


Keep Your Hands to Yourself

by circlebackwards



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Heaven, M/M, Slow Build, Supernatural AU - Freeform, Time Travel, an assortment of angels, avenging angel!Castiel, rated b/c of language for now, weeping angel!Castiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-06 00:44:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1838170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/circlebackwards/pseuds/circlebackwards
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Cas is a weeping/avenging angel and can't resist lingering around Dean Winchester, even though it's against all of Heaven's rules. Protecting a human hunter is not in his job description.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I originally started this on FF, so the first ten chapters or so are just copy/pasted. I'll probably also keep much of my author's notes the same though.  
> I took Cas' angel characteristics from both Supernatural and Doctor Who and mixed them into a holy elaborate cocktail, so it's easier to just explain. Basically Cas is an avenging/weeping angel who sends people back through time and space to punish them, instead of to feed off their time energy. He doesn't quantum lock, so he exists even when someone is not looking at him, but he also has the abilities of a Supernatural angel (e.g. becoming invisible at will, time & space travel, being able to search an entire city simultaneously, etc.). However if he touches something alive (plants, animals, people) with his bare skin, it's automatically sent back in time. If there's anything you'd like me to clarify, or any inconsistencies with his powers, I'll be happy to correct myself!

### Chapter 1: I Want to Touch It

Sobbing, terrified, and with a ratted mess of hair, a middle aged woman stumbled down the deserted road, crying for help. She made fairly slow progress since she continually whipped her head back to look over her shoulder and see if it was following her. Gasping, she saw the abandoned barn just down the road and began staggering even more intently towards it; upon reaching it she flung the doors open and hastily shut them, not bothering to slide the thick wooden beam into place. In her bruised, bare feet she slipped and skittered over the hay strewn about the floor to the back corner of the barn, cowering as she crossed herself.

Castiel sighed. It was tiresome and annoying when they ran, and it just made that tablespoon more of work he had to do to smite them. He ambled after her (because no, angels of the lord did not hurry), and flicking his hand, flung open the barn doors.

He advanced with ever-increasing distance between the gaps of darkness until he was less than an arm-length away from the sniveling human begging for mercy. The overhead floodlights flashed on and off in rapid succession, creating showers of sparks and a stark contrast between the graffiti and the tin walls. Non-corporeal wings unfolded to cast an ominous shadow throughout the building and revealed the heavenly avenger as Castiel flicked his fingers against the woman's forehead. "Wretch," he growled.

The woman dissipated instantly, and Castiel withdrew his hand to rub the scowl of contempt from his face. Just another day's work of meting out heaven's judgment to the evil. He briefly imagined how miserable her life would be during the midst of the black plague in Europe and felt a brief flash of satisfaction. Though his superiors chose whom to 'smite,' he got to decide where they went—and it was usually somewhere most dismal indeed.

"What did that poor soul do this time, Cassie? You really pulled out all the stops to scare the wits out of her. Nice touch by the way, moving between the lights." An oddly cheery voice spoke from his left and the sweet, cloying smell of processed sugar filled the air.

Castiel turned his head and raised an eyebrow as Gabriel slurped on a candied stick. "Not so much a poor soul as a loathsome parent. She evicted her own child from her household for his choice of husband. I'm not entirely sure why; the young man of choice wasn't particularly objectionable. However it is a grievous sin to not provide for kin, and I do not object to her sentencing."

Gabriel blew out a silent sigh at his brother's oblivion of humanity's peculiarities and faults regarding sexuality. "Yeah, well, you look dapper as always m'boy," the archangel-slash-trickster continued, clapping the other angel on the shoulder.

Shrugging him off, Castiel narrowed his eyes, "I'm supposed to look terrifying, absolute. Not… _dapper_. I find intimidation to be the most effective precursor to character reformation in what little time they have left." He exaggeratedly straightened his trench coat and masked his features into the cold mask of holy terror as he prepared to make an abrupt departure. "Now if you will excuse me, I must take care of the father."

"Wait, Castiel." Gabriel caught his sleeve just before he disappeared. He gave his younger brother a bitter smile, making it clear what he was about to say came from Michael and/or Raphael and that he in no way agreed but wanted to give the message to him because he was much more pleasant about it. "You need to stop touching things, man. The other angels up on high have noticed the 20th century flowers and raccoons ending up in dinosaur salads. You're, uh, messing up the big plan which-I'm-not-really-sure-can-be-done-since-it's-just-the-big-picture-but the people in early time periods are noticing. It's a little worrying." Gabriel's face and tone were sympathetic, no joviality for once as he clutched the coat sleeve, needing the other angel to understand the severity of the situation.

Castiel's face fell; he had known it was too much to pray that his slip-ups would go unnoticed. How could he help it? Everything was so beautiful, and it was so hard not to touch anything at all. He'd tried to wear gloves after one incident where a father had asked him to hold a baby while he loaded groceries into a car—it was very difficult to finagle himself and the baby out of that—but it was terribly hindersome when he kept forgetting them after removing them for a job. Shoot him, so he liked to try and pick roses, or hug the wildlife. When he had a lapse in memory of the 'no touch rule,' the thing would be sent back to a random place in time, making it more than extremely difficult to track it down and bring it home. So Castiel sometimes cut a corner and didn't even bother if it was something tiny (raccoons) and not human (which is why he traveled to 1940s London and brought back the little gremlin child at all).

Slowly, he reached out a single finger and brushed it against the stick of Gabriel's lollipop, registering its disappearance and then reappearance sometime during the Roman Empire. His mouth twisted into a bitter grimace. "Of course, Gabriel. I will keep my hands to myself from now on." With that he disappeared in a swift flutter of wings to deposit a certain, naked father near a certain, no-longer dormant volcano called Vesuvius.


	2. Meet the Humans

Over the next few weeks or months—Castiel didn’t know exactly because of his frequent time travel—¬he revoked almost all physical contact he had with the world. He continued to smite the people on his list, but he no longer spent any extra time hanging around to interact with the normal humans. He stopped sitting in coffee shops and diners to watch the world pass him by. He no longer affectionately scratched stray dogs behind the ears, and he most definitely stopped picking flowers. After a bit, he no longer forgot not to touch anything and was, for the most part, accustomed to his solitary, lonely existence.  
  
Upon receiving the command to smite someone in Chicago 2010, he’d thought it would be a simple scare-and-touch. When he arrived at the man’s house prepared to send him to the 1800s, a neighbor redirected him to a pizza restaurant across the city. It was too little of a distance to bother using his grace and wing it there, so he had to walk. Any other angel could have just taken the subway, but it would be crammed with humans and Castiel did not want to risk an accidental touch. So he trudged the many miles in the chilly air, his trench coat flapping around him as sturdy winds blew through the city. It was unseasonal for this time of year, especially with the angry storm clouds roiling overhead. The atmosphere was downright sinister. _Almost apocalyptic,_ Castiel thought with morbid amusement.  
  
Arriving at the restaurant, he pushed open the door and the bell jingled to announce his presence. The smell hit him and he frowned, looking around at the tables with dead customers gathered around. Distastefully, he peered at a specific man and rolled him over to look at the face more directly. That was the one.  
  
Rolling his eyes, Castiel sighed. It frustrated him that his superiors so often forgot to update his list when one died ahead of smiting schedule. He moved on to the next name on his list, which landed him in 2006 Indiana.  
  
.........  
  
Castiel was pissed. Boiling with the righteous fury of an angel. _Yet again,_ he was not informed of the early demise of his assignments. This time it was two specific perpetrators of human sacrifice, and someone had arrived before him.  
  
He had been barely six hours late to smite them, considering they had been unexpectedly killed only the previous night. Upon entering the diner, he’d strode up to the weasely-looking man at the counter and demanded where his assignments were located, having already searched their house and the surrounding town.  
  
The man was nervous, but defiant, and refused to tell Castiel where the couple was located. Castiel tilted his head, and the next thing the man knew, his face was being forcefully pressed against the ceiling. The people in the restaurant gasped, whimpering against the unyielding glass door held shut by Castiel—albeit not physically. A man held up to the ceiling and a door slammed shut with no one holding either of them simply terrified the occupants even further. They had come to the diner for a nice brunch to discuss what they should do after the previous night’s totally-not-sacrificial events.  
  
“No one,” Castiel said stonily, “is leaving until I get answers. _Where are Stacey and Harley Jorgeson?_ ” He waited a long minute, while the elders shuffled and hushedly debated amongst themselves whether to give this strange man answers. “Anyone?” he eventually asked, his rough voice akin to a sharply serrated blade. His blue eyes glinted dangerously, and the man above their heads groaned as his ribs popped and fractured as the pressure on him increased. “I have half a mind to begin killing each of you until someone steps forward,” he continued. “I am not patient, I am not merciful. So you’d best hurry.”  
  
One of the townsfolk, a stoutly aging man, let out a hoarse yell (a mistake really) and charged him with a knife he’d grabbed from a pie tin. Castiel flicked his hand at him, and the resounding crack of the man’s neck caused the people to cry out again in fear. “I really did warn you,” Castiel sighed. “I really tried. But you humans are just so unreasonable. Now, I am giving you a final chance—“  
  
“They were killed last night by a couple guys,” someone finally blurted. “Now let us go. Please.”  
  
Castiel shook his head and shrugged, lifting his hands in a _well what can I do?_ gesture. “Why would I do that? All here had a part in the human sacrifices; and yes I do know about that. Oh.” He looked over his shoulder as Ceiling Man thudded onto the floor, released by the angel’s lack of attention. “I actually had something much more painful and…corrosive planned for him. No matter, there are still thirteen of you left.” He smiled coldly before passing among them, who shoved at each other in order to get out of his way. They weren’t deft enough, seeing as Castiel had already slammed his palm against three of their foreheads and they had collapsed to the ground screaming as their eyes burned out of their skulls. He continued his way through them, leaving heaps of bodies behind him until he reached the last man, who was cowering against the doorframe. “It is a shame your Norse gods are not here to protect you,” he sneered, patting this man’s cheek. The man’s eyes started smoking as Castiel pushed open the diner door and strode out into the early sunlight. Castiel didn’t feel any particular sense of remorse about disobeying his orders to smite, and smite only, the Jorgenson couple. The rest of them deserved it too; they had a part in the sacrifices, so they should die as well. He actually perversely enjoyed smiting--those who deserved it--because it was the rare occasion he could feel something alive beneath him for longer than a split second.  
  
He continued striding down the surprisingly empty main street, intending to go search for the couple’s bodies in the woods. As he passed by a gas station, he faintly observed the sleek black car filling up when a friendly call registered in his one-track mind. He looked to the side, focusing on a young man who was raising his hand in greeting.  
  
“Nice day isn’t it?”  
  
What? Humans were strange, Castiel supposed. Why weather was such a fascinating topic that they needed to frequently ask him if he agreed that it was, indeed, a nice day was beyond him. “Yes,” he replied bluntly, standing stone-still in the middle of the street.  
  
The young man’s face turned slightly uncomfortable, and he leaned to rest his elbows against the car roof. “Um well, you stayin’ here long?”  
  
“No. I am not, if I can find them.” Why was this man insisting on drawing this out? Castiel was tempted to just knock him out and continue on his way.  
  
“Who’re you looking for?” The leather-coated man continued his tiresome conversation with his unnecessary questions, which Castiel pointed out to him as such. Startled by the angel’s bluntness, he finally gave up on the small talk. “Look, I just want to give you some advice: leave town as soon as you can. The people here aren’t that friendly, and frankly, they’re creepy as hell. No telling what they might do to you when you turn your back. You better just go. I can give you a ride if you want?” He actually hoped the stranger in the ridiculous coat didn’t want a ride because he didn’t want to spend however-long with a guy who had no sense of social etiquette (no matter that he could tell the color of his eyes in sunlight from twenty feet away. Blue, by the way) when he could be searching for his missing dad.  
  
Castiel actually snorted. “As if humans were ever a threat to me.” He continued on his wrathful way, leaving behind a bewildered man and his mammoth companion who had just came out of the gas station asking why he looked like he’d gotten hit with a tennis racket.  
  
Castiel did eventually find the bodies in the wood, and crossed their names off. Then, he flew away and continued down the list. Surprisingly, that young man from the gas station kept popping up every so often around Castiel. Of course his physical appearance fluctuated because Castiel might encounter him in 2012 during one assignment and 2004 on another. But he always recognized the human; well, except for that first second time Castiel met him. That time it took the angel quite a bit to place when he had encountered the human on his scrambled timeline.  
  
Every time Castiel interacted with the human, it left him feeling more and more aggravated and unsettled. Several times the man and his companion almost caught the angel smiting someone, which he would fake his way out by pretending to be human law enforcement investigating things. Other times he was just another customer in a diner, or motel, or school teacher who briefly interacted with the two to prevent them from meddling. Twice or thrice more, the hunters, as Castiel found out what they were called, arrived before him and killed the names on his list. Those were the times he’d gone to management and demanded that they keep better tabs on the smitees. Despite being minor annoyances in his life, Castiel found the humans fascinating enough not to put in a request for their “removal.” No one could get him to admit it, but maybe this antisocial angel so used to being invisible actually _enjoyed_ being seen once in a while.  
  
So other than the oddly recurring humans on Castiel’s timeline, his so-called life continued as normal. Well, at least until the hunter needlessly saved his life and recognized him for once. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite a few of the cases will be based off actual episodes, yes.


	3. Event Horizon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about this one's length, I kept trying to shorten it, but it felt too rushed without all the little filler bits. Oh, and things might get a little confusing in this chapter since Cas doesn't really pay attention to names or pronouns until the very end, but I tried to make it as clear as possible. My apologies!

 

_2011_

By Castiel's estimate, it had been two and a half of his years since he'd last seen the hunter and his friend. Halfway through his drought of human contact, he was considering asking management what had happened to the hunters, because he was curious and _absolutely_ not slightly worried in the least that they might have been disposed of as a nuisance. However, his subconscious never found a legitimate reason to convince his logical self that it was necessary to track them down; besides, he didn't even know their names. At least they wouldn't meddle in his work again, wherever they were.

He was working an assignment in Rome when he received a top-priority order to go to 2011 Minnesota and avenge four victims of an ongoing hostage situation in a hospital. The 'angel radio' noted that it was top priority because the wrongdoer was recorded to die within 10 minutes of Castiel receiving the order. Upon confirmation to the higher-ups that he was in the same year and en route, Castiel abandoned his current assignment and merely had to flap across several weeks to reach Minnesota.

_Blink._

_Blink._

_Blink._

Upon opening his eyes, Castiel found himself in the deserted hospital. Apparently human authorities had evacuated everyone they could out of this wing, except for the hostages and their captor. He began to search rapidly through the extensive hospital wing, aware of the clock ticking down how much time he had to inflict righteous punishment. _09:12. Nine minutes twelve seconds. 552 seconds. Zero point one-five-two hours._

He would have to search each of the halls in the wing manually, since the space was too cramped and minute in all of space and time to apparate through the rooms. He estimated that he would have a substantial amount of time left after searching to prolong the human's demise.

Castiel was nearly at the end of the wing when—Five. There had just been a fifth victim, Castiel realized as he heard three rapid gunshots echo in the empty hospital. The shots had been fired from nearby, and rounding the corner into the last hallway, he saw a human standing above another unmoving figure sprawled on the linoleum floor. Castiel curled his lip. He considered humans who killed for pleasure vile and even more base than the rest of the species generally was. He advanced down the hallway, the long florescent lights audibly shutting off behind him and creating a mighty silhouette; his footsteps echoed heavily, alerting the upright human. Suddenly, the timer in his head clicked downwards several minutes. _00:02:30. Two minutes thirty seconds._

Even with the decreased time, Castiel would be truly pleased to end the life of this wretch and see all the future years of its life crumble away like dirt in the wind. He wanted to draw this out and send it to the brink of death with fear before throwing it to a miserable point in time. So he decided to "put on the best show ever" (as Gabriel would put it).

For a human looking at the avenging angel, they would see his face morphing grotesquely. Blunt fangs extended from his mouth, bared in a vicious snarl. His face flickered, snapping sideways, back and forth between his stony, menacing expression, and a creature with a gaping, yawning maw opened unnaturally wide. His eyes wavered, as if suddenly turning to static before they flashed out to utter nothingness, just two endless voids in his skull. His skin was a sickly pale greenish, like a bloated corpse after being in water. His neck twisted distortedly, his face still leering at the human. Projected shadows of his wings dragged wetly across the floor and walls like an oil slick seeping down the hall. The void of his wings seemed to absorb any light they touched, a contained event horizon of a black hole: all-consuming and inescapable.

Castiel was more than halfway down the long hall, nearly to the figure, and was beginning to become concerned. The human had not even moved. Was the human even scared? Was Castiel unable to get it up any more? Was he still a terrifying force of Heaven? Mostly though, he was confused. A human had simply never been not scared before, not in his experience. And upon even closer inspection, he saw that the human was completely clothed, head to toe, and mere slits for the eyes in the mask. It would be difficult to directly touch the skin, Castiel realized. _00:02:00. Two minutes._

Meanwhile the figure simply stood there, its hand containing a gun in a lax hold. The angel had come to a halt barely ten feet before and was staring, as if trying to decide on a course of action. Castiel took a step forward, arm outstretched—and a bullet embedded itself with a dull thud in his left breast.

This gave him a pause. Of irritation. He craned his neck down and looked at the bullet hole in his trench coat condescendingly before glaring at the human with a tilt to his head. There was a long moment as their eyes bored into each other's, and then Castiel lunged forward.

The angel batted away the figure's one free punching hand and struck its face repeatedly in his irritation to get to work. His fingers scrabbled at the fabric of the human's clothing, searching for any contact with skin, knocking the human down onto the floor with sufficient ease and pinning its body down. _00:01:43._ The human was still gripping the gun and fired shots at him, missing many, landing a few—enough to slow and distract. Castiel finally managed to snag his fingers on a seam and was about to rip off the article of clothing _00:01:25_ and dispose of this unfathomably imperturbable human in a boat in the middle of a tropical ocean _00:1:10_ when a final shot rang out and the human beneath him slumped to the floor. _00:00:00._

Castiel whipped his head to the side, shifting to get into a defensive position and extending his arm before him, fingers curving like talons. His eyes narrowed and his mouth was open, baring his now-again human-like teeth slightly. Whereas he had been straddling the human, he was now on a knee beside its body and ready to leap at the interloper and defend himself and what had been his prey. His vision pulsed slightly, not concentrating fully on the newcomer's face until the newcomer took several steps back and held up its hands—one still holding a gun—in placation.

Castiel's tunnel vision widened until he could recognize the figure before him as the human hunter he had encountered so many times before. "I…" he rasped gruffly, "was taking care of…it…" he gestured roughly at the body.

The human was older than when Castiel had first met him; his face was more lined and tired, though the stubble on his jaw might have contributed to that impression. However, the easy-goingness was not entirely gone as the human gave an easy smile. "Man, you looked like you were about to rip his clothing off. Was I interrupting you two?"

The hunter was met with the angel's glower. "Yes. You were. He was _mine_." Castiel rose up, seeming to expand and tower over the man, even though he was a few inches shorter.

The man snorted in surprise and affront. "I saved your life! The least you could be is appreciative, not be such a dick!" He shoved his gun back into the waistband of his jeans and glowered right back, his green eyes glinting in pissed-offness.

"That was not necessary! _I was handling it._ " Castiel's voice was a gravelly roar, and frankly, he did not give a demon's soul if he attracted other humans by making a scene. This was it, the last time this meddling human got in his way and saw Castiel.

"Not from where I was standing."

Castiel bristled at that and shoved past the hunter, his trench coat swishing and revealing the body he had been obscuring. He was several feet beyond the man when he heard a choked intake of breath and the thud of someone dropping to the floor. Don't do it, Castiel, his inner angel on his shoulder chirped at him. Don't get involved.

Breathing a sigh, Castiel and turned and steeled himself to become involved. He saw the hunter kneeling on the floor hesitantly touching the body Castiel saw the evildoer standing over. The hunter removed their ear from the chest and rocked back on his heels, bracing his forehead on the webbing between his thumb and forefinger, gripping his temples.

He flexed his jaw several times and strode back to the man. "What's wrong?" he asked gruffly. "Who was this to you?" So much for comfort.

The green-eyed man shook his head mutely, Adam's apple bobbing as he tried to compose the words lodged in his throat. Finally he managed, "He was my uncle. More like a dad. He was family." He cleared his throat, and Castiel realized what this was: grief. The tall, green-eyed man was grieving for a father. Or at the least, a father figure. He was unsure of the etiquette. Leave him be? Find his companion? Lord forbid—comfort him?

He moved forward slowly and crouched next to the men, and turned the body to him. Now Castiel could see the countenance of the body, and he was an older, grizzled man with a beard and a ball cap. Rough, but kindly enough, Castiel supposed. Briefly he reflected that it was a shame the man was taken from the living. He reached out and gave an experimental tap to the palm. Yes, definitely dead, or else the body would have disappeared. Castiel's touch only worked for the living. He decided that he might as well check the evildoer's body as well, and it turned out to be empty of life as well.

Returning to the live hunter he motioned uselessly, trying to find the words to help, or provide the peace angels were supposed to exude, for Father's Sake. "Um…" He coughed. "You should go. Where is your companion? He will be able to help you."

The man shook his head numbly. "No. No. I can't leave Bobby here. He never left me, can't leave him. Gotta burn the body…" he mumbled, pushing off his knees to stand up. He seemed shorter already, sagging with grief. "Bobby, Bobby, Bobby…"

"I insist," Castiel ordered. "I will take care of…Bobby's…body. It will be safe with me, I swear to you. I know how."

"You a hunter too?" Dean looked at him dully, taking in the trench coat and suit underneath. "Dun' look like one."

"…Yes. I am. The apparel was for an…assignment. A case." Castiel wet his mouth at the lies. What else was he supposed to say? "Now where is your companion? I will help you find him," he offered stuntedly.

The grieving, green-eyed man—Castiel could not stop noticing their color—shook his head. "No, I'll just text him and we'll meet at the bar 'round the corner. C'mon. You might as well come; we need to talk."

This is where Castiel should have declined and insisted the man go to the bar himself. But by now, Castiel felt he was in too deep and he didn't want to leave the man alone. Who knew what trouble his weak human self would get muddled up in? Well, that was his excuse anyway.

Either way, the hunter and the angel ended up at the bar twenty minutes later, after Castiel had deposited Bobby, er, Bobby's body in the back seat of the man's car, which he still recognized. For an angel with stunted social etiquette, even Castiel could understand how horrible it was to simply put the body in the car. But what else could he do with it? He had given his word to take care of the body.

But anyway, the two sat at the bar and Castiel realized the hunter seemed hell-bent on becoming intoxicated. The man had downed several tiny glasses full of tinted liquid, and was currently sliding several over to Castiel himself, who stared at them before downing them in rapid succession: firstly worried about breaching the propriety of being offered drinks; and secondly, marveling at the buzzing he began to feel in his fingertips.

Half an hour later, Castiel began to worry about the man's blood alcohol content and his inability to heal him should the man pass out. So he ordered the hunter to switch to a final beer. Against his wishes, he was offered a bottle of his own and he took it ruefully, swiping his thumb to catch the condensation.

Both of them sat in silence for a minute, letting the hustle and noise of the bar rush over them and fill the space. Castiel turned his head when he finally heard the man say, "Y'know, he was only there for a follow-up 'cause of his pneumonia? He'd been sick and he was finally getting better. That's why he was there in the first place. Bobby was."

The man paused to take a swig from the bottle, and Castiel's eyes darted to the mouth that wrapped itself around the glass. He swallowed and took a quick, awkward drink from his own, and let the man wet his lips to continue. "He was there when that freak decided to take a waiting room hostage…called police…called me…" He was slurring now. "I told 'im notta be a hero. Humans ain't nothing like a monster or demon. Sometimes I swear it's mo' dif'cult to kill them." He was tearing up and sniffling now as well. Castiel realized the man was what Gabriel would call 'an emotional drunk.' Perhaps that was unfair, he reflected. A father-figure had died, and that was a possible factor for the man sniffling beside him like a child with allergies. "Why're humans so fucked up, man? Why we so fucked up? I thought we're s'posed to be the ones with souls…" Castiel had no answer for the attractive, drunk, crying man because he often wondered that himself. After all, his list never ran short of names.

When they were mostly done with their beers, Castiel turned his head to see the man squinting at him. "Do I know you?" the man asked, his speech still slurring slightly.

The angel froze. "No. We have never met…" Officially, he added to himself, reassuring the angel on his mental shoulder that it wasn't _really_ a lie.

"Nah, you're wroooong. We've met. Damn, I knew I'd seen those babe-blues before. I've seen you hanging around while I've been on cases. Always in the background, but I seeee yooooouuu." He pointed his beer bottle at Castiel. "Makes sense then, that you'd be in the life. Why you always show up at places where creepy shit happens. Why our paths cross so often."

"You are very drunk," Castiel stated, trying to get the man off this worrying trail of conversation. "We have never met before."

"Don't lie ta me!" the man growled. "I know when my gut instinct says so, I did so," he hiccupped, "met you. You don't even look a day older, huh." He extended his calloused hand. "Dean Winchester, not FBI, not CIA, not Homeland, not anything…Just me."

Castiel tilted his head slightly, but did not proffer his hand to reciprocate the handshake. He hesitated, however, before saying, "Castiel."

"What?"

"My name, it is Castiel. I am called Castiel." He wet his mouth again. Lord, he couldn't seem to stop doing it around this human.

A dopey smile spread across _Dean Winchester's_ face. "Casssssstielllll. Casteel. Casssssteel. Castlllle. Cassss," he started slurring again and laughing to himself at his continuous mispronunciation. "Thass a name you got there, buddy, but no last name? Yeah, 'm so drunk." Dean's head drooped as he stood up and staggered.

Castiel's hands twitched on the bar counter, reflexively wanting to support Dean. "I told you you were drunk forty-three minutes and 6 seconds ago."

Dean shook his head, swaying. "That's what we gotta do as humans; gotta do something to get rid of the feelings." He fumbled in his coat pocket for a wallet and shakily set a few bills on the counter, accidentally tipping his phone out. "Damn it."

Castiel eyed Dean appraisingly. "I will get it. I do not think if you lean down, you will get up." He bent over and plucked the phone from the ground, noticing the lit screen cluttered with texts and missed calls and voice mails from 'Sammy.'

Dean half-smiled lopsidedly. "Thaaanks, Ca-aas." He clapped Castiel on the shoulder, not noticing the angel stand frozen for a brief moment.

"It seems someone is trying to reach you desperately." He unfroze after a second, gratefully realizing no bare skin had made contact. "Sammy?"

The grin stretched wider. "Sammy! My brother! What's he want?"

Surprisingly enough Castiel was fairly adept at current technology, having lived through the previous millennia and its inventions, as well as being one of the assigned 'specialists' to the 21st and 20th century. He poked a few messages, reading through the furious and frantic brother's messages and repeated unanswered calls. "He is worried about you and where you are."

His statement was waved away. "Sam's always a worry-warthog. I'll call him soon."

"Call him now, Dean." And my God, did Castiel want to say the name over and over. Having not known the man's name for so many years, it was like discovering a new language from four letters.

"You ever dealt with a pissy Sammy? No? Well I'm not gonna, not tonight. You do it, Cas." Dean sauntered towards the door, swaying precariously, and Cas nearly tipped over the barstool hurrying after the weird human.

Outside in the cooling night air, Castiel called Sam as Dean retched into the shrubbery.

"Fuck you, Dean!" was what he was met with when the other end picked up. "Where the fuck were you?! Where the fuck are you?! I had to walk back to the motel because that's where I thought you and Bobby'd be, but your car wasn't even in the damn lot! You could have the sense to let me know where you are, instead of wandering off, you douchebag!" Cas waited until 'Sammy' finished ranting, which was another thirty seconds.

"Hello, this is Castiel. Your brother is with me, and he is…very drunk."

"Oh Jesus Christ, I am so sorry!"

"No, I am Castiel. And your brother is throwing up outside of a bar."

After several more apologies and prompting Castiel to see what the bar was called, Sammy assured him he was on his way and if he could just wait with Dean a little longer?

Cas sat with Dean on the curb after he'd finished clearing his stomach contents and watched the sweat bead on his forehead under the streetlight. Dean swallowed thickly and tried to spit the taste of vomit from his mouth while wiping at his face.

"Your brother should be here soon," Cas finally offered. "He was relieved you are well."

Dean sighed heavily and passed his hand over the angle of his jaw. "God, I'm going to have to tell him about Bobby. He was like a father to both of us; I don't know what we're gonna do without him." His jaw clenched and he rested his head between his knees, breathing deeply to overcome the nausea and grief that was beginning to set back in.

Shifting awkwardly, Cas' trench coat rustled and he gingerly patted Dean on the back, briefly and wonderingly savoring the warmth that seeped through the jacket. "I am sorry about Robert. He seemed very important to you and Sam. I am sure he is in a better place, though."

"Yeah, how would you know that? Ain't no proof in this world," Dean scoffed.

Cas remained silent to that. He actually did know, or at least could find out for definite, that Robert Singer had made it to Heaven. Not that he could tell Dean. The two of them sat in complete silence after that, just letting their breaths fog in the night and looking at the stars.

Eventually Sam Winchester came jogging up, panting, and still pretty pissed. He gave a nod and a sincere thank you handshake to Cas before demanding Dean hand over the keys to the Impala. "Jerk."

"Yeah, yeah, bitch. I know I ain't driving tonight. Just, wait a sec, okay? Just stay here. Don't go into the Impala yet," Dean told him, shaking him gently by the shoulder. He looked back at the slightly shorter man next to him, dressed in the ridiculous trench coat and suit. What was he a college professor or something? A trench coat, really? He coughed awkwardly. "Listen, I'm sorry for going all drunk and needy on you, Cas. I swear I'm not usually like that. Well, I'm drunk a lot actually, but I'm not needy…and thanks for listening 'bout Bobby."

"It is fine, Dean," Cas assured him.

The taller man shrugged and ran his hand through his hair before holding it out for another handshake apprehensively. "Maybe we'll see you around then. You're not half-bad, we could tag team on a case if we ever run into you again." He crooked a dry grin.

Cas kept his arms by his sides, coat fluttering in the breeze and returned a nod and soft upturn of the mouth corners. "Perhaps, Dean." He watched the brothers walk to the car and stand outside for several minutes and watched Dean talk to Sam, probably telling him about Robert. Then the two Winchesters drove away and Cas remained in the same spot on the pavement until the taillights faded from view.

Upon checking in on 'angel radio' again, Castiel was met with several rebukes of his failure and conduct regarding his contact to Dean Winchester. Then he was given a new list of names that would keep him busy for several months yet. Oh well, the most Castiel could hope for was that one of his assignments would bring him in orbit of Dean Winchester, though he wouldn't count on it. But if he was so lucky enough, he wouldn't make the mistake of touching him again.


	4. Curiouser & Curiouser

"Heya, Cassie!" a shorter, golden-haired man suddenly appeared in front of Castiel and swept an elaborate bow. "Salutations, my dear little bro."

Castiel froze and stopped short as Gabriel blocked his path. "The bow was unnecessary," he said, unable to refrain from commenting on the archangel's superfluous actions. His blue eyes flickered from meeting Gabriel's gaze to his ostentatious shirt buttons, too nervous to maintain eye contact, which he knew was now damning evidence enough of his deceit.

Gabe arched an eyebrow in sarcastic suspicion. Of course he knew what Castiel was up to, he'd known from the first instant Cas had begun to stray. He had just wanted to give his brother a head start on his not-so-surreptitious quest, like the great big bro he was. "Whatcha doing in these parts, huh?" He made sure that any accusatory words or tones stayed well out of his voice, he didn't want to spook the other angel. From many past experiences, he knew that if Castiel felt threatened, he would disappear and it would be truly difficult for even an archangel to find him then. So he stayed non-confrontational, even offering Cas a sticky, half-melted Dum-Dum from his own linty pockets.

Castiel ignored the candy and shifted uncomfortably. "An assignment. I had an assignment…and he ran…this way? I was going to fetch him." he shrugged his shoulders helplessly, at the mercy of his terrible fibbing skills.

Sigh. This was getting more out of hand than Gabe had expected. Castiel had never outright lied to him. Out of the past dozen-ish times he had caught Castiel out of his work area, Castiel had remained dumb and then flapped away after the questioning had become intense. Gabriel had informed his other big brothers, standing up to them for once, that Castiel was not to be punished until he had discovered what he was up to himself. Alone. No one else was to meddle. However, Raphael and the Up on High-ers warned him that if Cassie's transgressions continued, they would be forced to…permanently decommission him by transfiguring him into a granite effigy.

_"So you're gonna fucking stone him," Gabriel had supplied in layman's terms (though it sounds better in Enochian). He shot daggers at Michael and Raphael with his eyes. "You're gonna turn him into a damn statue just because he goes off course every once in a while? The kid's just curious. Leave him be, guys." He was trying not to fume and sound petulant, though Father knew Gabriel had always been somewhat the baby of the archangels._

_"We were charged with keeping order in this world, brother," Michael boomed menacingly. "Do not try to meddle with Heaven's intent."_

_"I would never dream of it, brother mine," Gabriel had sneered, and then huffed his way out of Heaven, and arrogantly strutted out of the gates. Just to, y'know, piss Michael off. What a pompous goat._

Of course Gabriel had almost instantly found out what Cas was up to, he wasn't blind to the fascination with humans. He had spent centuries on Earth after all, while his lazy-ass brothers were sitting pretty in Heaven. It made him more qualified than any of them to steer Castiel back onto the path of righteousness. Yes, he himself had dabbled with many a fast-living human female or male, or someone in-between. But he was an archangel, he was able to get away with that shit. Not so for Castiel.

Castiel stuttered through his response eventually. "I was looking for a human. He has been appearing on my timeline with surprising frequency and it is distracting."

"Oh yeah, I bet he was _very_ distracting," Gabe winked, but the innuendo was lost on Cas.

"I was concerned why I have not seen him recently. For someone who reappears near me so often, I was worried that a timeline had become tangled and I wished to check that nothing is against the Intent of Heaven." Yes, if Castiel was Gabriel and he was telling this to himself, he would believe him. It sounded very plausible.

Gabriel eyed Cas. He was telling the truth about being concerned for the human, but it went beyond simple diligence about managing timelines. However, the archangel decided to let Castiel slide on his… _curiosity_ and let him believe he was actually stealthy. "Good on you, then I guess. Keep on keepin' on…" He raised his hand in a mock salute, prepared to disappear. "Oh, and Cassie?" He paused. "Just so you know, the archangels _will_ be keeping an eye on you." He raised an eyebrow in friendly-enough warning before snapping his fingers and disappearing to Father-knows-where.

The tension evaporated from Castiel's shoulders after Gabriel left. Sure, he was probably the nicest and most-easygoing of all his big brothers, but Castiel didn't relish anyone's nose poking around Castiel's business.

However, the transgressions he had recently been acquiring and being lectured about weren't for naught. During his extended stays among the time period, he was picking up on human mannerisms. In fact, he had even searched out hunters in order to understand how they performed their assignments, or rather, their cases.

On these excursions he had been losing work time, and apparently management was starting to notice and crack down.

Castiel would not admit to himself that the reason he flitted between days after every assignment was in hopes of meeting Dean Winchester again. He hadn't seen hide nor hair of the green-eyed human since the incident at the hospital. He had explored the times before and after they had properly met, but still no Dean. Not that he was actively looking of course.

For now, he decided to prolong his stay in 2012 and wander around various small towns in South Dakota. He was ambling down the main street of one such small town, enjoying the light breeze and sunlight, when he passed a small diner. Shortly after passing the diner, he heard the diner's door's bell jangle as a patron hurried out of the bar.

"Cas?" a voice called breathlessly after him.

Castiel paused, his trench coat fluttering in the soft wind, and tilted his head to look at the source of the voice. An unfamiliar expression flitted across his face, and he realized it was a small smile. "Dean."


	5. Mister death's blueeyed boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The angel did not doubt the human's ability to fight for himself (much), but he still wanted to keep an eye on Dean just in case. To Castiel, protecting Dean Winchester had just become his own self-given assignment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little warning for the chapter ahead: there's some action with beheading and a little blood, so if you're squeamish about any of that, read with care. I kept descriptions brief though, so I don't think it's particularly gory. Also, there's some language, so there's that. Also-also, the chapter title is from the poem "Buffalo Bill's" by e.e. cummings. Thanks for reading!

For the past year, Dean Winchester entertained the notion that he was going crazy. He would see tan trench coats in the corner of his eye, but when he whipped around no one was ever there. And out of nowhere, he suddenly had a thing for blue eyes, seeing as most of his recent hook-ups were, in fact, blue of the eye color. Except they were all wrong. The bartender's eyes had too much green; the doctor's were too light; and the weight trainer's? Hers looked like sleet. Nothing matched those godforsaken blue eyes that had been haunting him for months. Frankly, it was ridiculous. He's talked to the guy, what, once? And then proceeded to get drunk and throw up in front of him. So yeah, it wasn't like this thing they might have had could have gone anywhere. He was a hunter, for God's sake. Relationships never seemed to turn out well for any of their kind. Even if Castiel was a hunter too.

God, he was acting like such a romantic. He would catch himself daydreaming about how those goddamned blue eyes looked in the bar light and tell himself it was just a case of really bad beer (actually vodka) goggles. Just a drunken thought, a drunken wish.

But now that he was sitting across from Castiel—Cas—in a vintage diner, he could definitely tell that there had never been any vodka goggles on him that night.

Cas awkwardly scooted and squelched his way across the vinyl upholstery. Dean waited for the man to be comfortable, then offered him Sam's basket of fries. "Want some?" The owner of the fries glared and raised a bitchy eyebrow at Dean.

Castiel looked at the fries, then up at Dean and Sam. "I have no money."

"Nah man, it's fine. He was done—ow." Dean returned a glare to Sam after receiving a sharp kick to his ankle. He returned the fries basket to the middle of the table in case Cas decided he wanted some. He folded his hands and leaned back in his seat, trying to get his first good look at this strange guy. "So…we haven't seen you for a while. Not since the hospital, thanks again for that, by the way." His face sobered and hardened for a brief moment before returning to its neutral expression.

Cas nodded slowly. "Yes…I remember. I have been busy recently," he trailed off and glanced at the brother, Sam he recalled, and saw a hostile expression hid under one of polite friendliness. He was not sure what he had done to offend the other Winchester, but perhaps Sam would voice his irritation soon so that it could be put to rest.

Dean didn't notice Sam's expression, more absorbed in maintaining a conversation with Mr. Blue Eyes. "Sam and I have been really busy lately too. It seems like all the Big Bads decided to come out of hibernation at once," he snorted. "It's been a hell of a year: ghosts, wendigos, rampant serial killers, vampires… In fact that's why we're in town; we tracked a vamp nest to a barn nearby."

Cas nodded vigorously once more. "Yes, that is why I am here as well. Vampires, many vampires."

Dean brightened considerably. "Hey, do you wanna work together? We'd have a higher chance of surviving if we team up."

Sam elbowed him in the side and gave him a look. "Dean? Can we talk alone for a sec?" He glanced at Cas and jerked his head in his direction.

"Now?"

"Right now," he confirmed.

Dean sighed and pushed Sam out of the booth and followed his brother to a couple feet away. He gave Cas a little wave before leaning his head in towards Sam. "What?" he hissed.

"Dean, you never want to team up with other hunters. Especially with hunters we don't know." Sam gestured towards Castiel. "What is with you and this guy? You've been talking about him all year." He stared at Dean as if he'd never seen his brother before.

Dean looked up at his brother in disbelief. "Sam, he was there when Bobby died, and he killed the guy who did it; don't we owe him anything?"

Sam shook his head adamantly. "Nope, nothing. Let's ditch him." He took hold of Dean's sleeve and took a mammoth step towards the door of the diner. "We can take care of the vamp nest on our own."

Meanwhile Dean yanked his coat sleeve out of his hand. "Dude what the hell?"

The taller brother glanced around before turning his head so Castiel couldn't see his mouth. "This guy's bad news; we won't end up in anything but trouble if we stay around him. Dean please, let's go." Sam's voice was low and urgent as he put his hand on Dean's back and tried to steer him out the door.

Castiel watched the brothers argue about him (yes, neither Sam nor Dean were subtle speakers. It was an absolute wonder that no other patrons heard them loudly conversing about vampires in a crowded diner.) He twiddled his hands briefly before reaching out to grab one long, greasy fry from the basket Dean offered. He chewed the soft and oblong potato thoughtfully, letting out a hum of approval, and reached to grab another one.

When Sam and Dean returned to the table, they found two empty fries baskets and a surprised, yet pleased Cas. While Sam pissily flagged down a waiter to get another order, Cas smiled beatifically. "Those make me very happy. Normally I cannot eat without much concentration."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "I'll say those do make you happy, you ate two baskets' worth in under three minutes. So anyways, Cas, do you wanna help us take out that nest?"

The angel tilted his head in consideration. "I suppose so, yes. I have nowhere to be." The latter wasn't necessarily true: he actually had anywhen and everywhere to be at that moment. His list was quite literally, a mile long. No matter, he could deal with his superiors and consequences later, since he also technically had an assignment in the area. While Dean briefed him on plan and the weapons at their disposal, Cas tried to ignore Sam's hostile stare. The three of them decided to head out within the hour to make the most of the afternoon sunlight.

.........

They left the Impala about a quarter mile from the barn and continued the rest of the way on foot. While arming themselves from the Impala's trunk arsenal, Cas was forced to accept a machete-like sword since he had no way to explain to the brothers such a weapon was unnecessary for him.

They approached the barn rapidly but silently, intent on listening for any movement within. They were counting on the daylight for the vampires to be asleep, as well as to disorient them when all hell would break loose. Dean motioned for Sam to circle around the barn and check for any other entrances and for Cas to stay with him as they cased the front door. The hunter looked for a crack between the boards to look inside and see what they were up against. It was difficult lighting, but he could make out at least seven figures sprawled around the fairly spacious building. The barn was abandoned as far as he could tell, so he was hoping that there wouldn't be too much sharp farm equipment to fight around.

While Cas waited beside Dean, he realized he would have to stay out of sight of the brothers in order to be most functional. Castiel had enough experience fighting with weapons, but while he was fighting a supernaturally fast human-like creature, he preferred to get down and dirty with it. A weapon would merely be a slower extension of his arm. Burning beings from the inside out, snapping necks, and beheading was more of his forte in battle. As an avenging angel, killing was not strange for him. There was blood on his hands from much more than one occasion.

The angel did not doubt the human's ability to fight for himself (much), but he still wanted to keep an eye on Dean just in case. To Castiel, protecting Dean Winchester had just become his own self-given assignment. This would make the mission significantly more difficult since he not only had to hide from Dean, but also protect him.

Sam had finally circled around and was motioning to Dean that there were two back doors: one for the lower level, and another leading upstairs.

The three of them looked amongst themselves and tried to silently decide who was going where and with whom. Sam didn't want Dean to be alone with Cas. Cas did not want to leave Dean. Dean trusted Sam, but didn't want him to go in alone, but he also didn't want to send an untested hunter in solo either. Eventually they decided Sam would take the back upstairs, and Dean and Cas would enter through the front door, since they predicted most of the vamps would be sleeping close by anyway, giving Sam an easier time of it. Once the plan was made, they fanned out quickly.

Dean cracked open the barn door, just enough for him and Cas to slip through. The human had to pause for his eyes to adjust to the dark, but the angel was immediately able to move about the barn with ease. They waited until they saw the thin strip of light flicker from upstairs, and then attacked.

Dean had sliced down on a sleeping vampire's neck, but unfortunately either his eyesight or the blade was dull and it only made it _most_ of the way through. "Aw, damn," Dean groaned as the vampire scrambled up, howling in pain. He lunged for the handle sticking out of its neck, but it snarled at him and stayed out of his reach as best as it could. "Cas! Get the door and open it wide! It's time to Lion King these assholes!" He hoped Cas was managing himself alright and would soon be able to bring the advantage on their side. Now that he was thinking about it, perhaps opening the barn doors wide was the first best thing he could have done.

Thankfully, Cas was able to reach the barn door in the melee and threw it open, letting bright sunlight stream in. With his back turned, a vampire had taken the opportunity to run at him from behind. Unfortunately for it, Cas simply whirled around and lifted its head right off his shoulders with a sharp twist. He began making his way through the rest of the barn and found that there were many more vampires than Dean had estimated, which was surprising. They were pressed against the barn walls hissing furiously and trying to stay away from the scorching sunlight that corned them. The angel found that he had no problem tossing aside the machete and smiting and beheading vampires by the droves. It was a workout for him, who'd been used to the many centuries of quiet and singular humans since he'd last been called into battle.

When Cas had thrown open the barn doors, Dean's vampire was stunned enough that he backed it against a support beam and pushed the blade through the rest of its neck. He was looking for his next victim when he heard Sam's grunts and calls for assistance from the loft above. He looked around wildly for stairs, a ladder, anything that would take him upstairs. "Cas?" he yelled as he spotted one and began running towards it. "Can you hold the first floor?" He didn't wait for an affirmation, however, even as he began climbing the ladder with his blade in hand. Upstairs was absolute hell. Dean couldn't see Sam anywhere in the roiling mess of vampires. He began hacking his way through them efficiently, decapitating some, incapacitating others.

Meanwhile Sam was grappling with a vamp, trying to keep its stinking teeth from sinking into his neck while he also grabbed around for the machete. He froze when abruptly, and without him doing anything, the vamp's head rolled off its shoulders and onto Sam, before landing on the ground. He looked up in surprise to see what had taken it down, but he just glimpsed the back of a tan trench coat before it disappeared between two vampires. _What the hell?_ He thought as he scrambled up and jumped back into the fight with his machete.

Dean felt something, rather someone, hover behind his back. In the corner of his eye he saw Cas' tan arm slicing and dicing away. "What the fuck are you doing up here?" he yelled back. "What about the vamps downstairs?"

Castiel grunted as he swung at a vampire, blade in hand. Weapons be _damned_. "I took care of them," he snapped back and drove the blade through its neck.

"What are you, some god?" Dean decapitated another vampire in disbelief, resisting the urge to turn around and gawp.

Castiel huffed in amusement. "Not a god. But something like that, yes." Bounce, bounce, bounce...

Realizing they were quickly losing the fight, vampires began abandoning the loft, leaping straight off the side and into the sunlight. No matter the pain the light caused them, they were more intent on getting away from whatever fury was mowing them down like a lawn.

Finally, finally, finally, there were no evil bloodsuckers of the night left. Alive, that is. Dean was hunched over, leaning heavily on his long swordy thing and trying to catch his breath. Sam was examining the large pile of bodies Castiel had left downstairs and was trying to fathom how that had even happened. Cas just stood there placidly with blood spattered across his face and clothing and let his arms hang by his sides.

"Goddamn, Cas, you look like hell," Dean wheezed from beside him.

The angel looked sharply at him, about to chastise the blasphemy before remembering himself. "Hm."

"Dude, how did you even fight in that get up? It's very a la tax accountant meets chainsaw killer."

Cas blinked at him with those _goddamn blue_ eyes. "It was no hindrance to me, I assure you."

Dean huffed. "I can see that, sure as hell," he remarked, gesturing around him. "Damn, I want to keep you."

The two of them made their way down to Sam. "We should burn the bodies," Sam said. "Let's start putting them in a pile." They nodded in agreement and dispersed to begin the lengthy task of lugging back bodies and body parts into a pile outside the barn.

As the three men stood in front of the bonfire, the two hunters warmed their hand over it as the air around them began to cool while the sun set. Eventually Dean threw a cocky grin to his brother. "See, I told you he would be helpful!" He clapped Cas on the shoulder. "Have you ever had an easier takedown?!" he gloated.

Sam groaned. "Well damn, Dean. At the least we were unprepared for how many friggin' vampires were in there!" He threw him a glare, as well as Cas.

"But that's why we had _him_ ," Dean insisted. "He was as hard to kill as a Jefferson Starship!"

Cas smiled slightly at Dean's praise, however, Sam's comments and attitude toward him still stung.

Eventually the fire died down and they shoveled dirt into the hole. They rested on their shovels briefly before they began walking tiredly back to the Impala. "Hey Cas?" Dean yawned. "Do you wanna change of clothes? I probably have some in my duffel that would fit you." He tossed his weapons carelessly into the trunk, while Sam put his away neatly as well as Dean's.

"I am fine Dean," Cas replied with his gravelly voice. "I thank you for your concern."

Dean shrugged. "You sure you wanna stay inside that mess of vamp blood? But if I'm given you a ride back into town, that coat comes off and you're spreading a towel over the upholstery," he warned.

"I will not require transportation. This is where I depart from your company." Cas began to distance himself from Dean, unwilling to leave, but also unable to stay. It would simply be easier if he pretended as if this were a mere assignment and left.

"Cas, you sure? This is the middle of nowhere," Dean gesticulated around him, his forehead creasing in confusion.

Sam interrupted his brother. "Alright, that's cool. I guess we might see you around then. Thanks for your help man," he offered his hand to Castiel, but the angel stared at it, then back into his brown eyes. Was it his imagination or was there a slightly cold and wary look in his eyes? Either way, Cas kept his arms to his sides and ignored Dean's offered handshake as well.

"Come on, at least I can be assured you didn't get ambushed on the way back by another vampire," Dean tried to insist once more.

"Nevertheless," Castiel replied firmly.

"He'll be fine, Dean." Sam nodded at Cas before opening the Impala door and getting inside, waiting impatiently.

The hunter shot a bemused look at Sam, but then shrugged. "Alrighty then." He licked his lips nervously. "Get in touch, Cas, ok? I don't know if you have many friends in this community, but it's always good to have someone in your corner. And I'm in your corner. Do you need my cell number or something?" He stuck his hands in his jacket pocketes, patting around for a pen and a slip of paper.

Cas felt a warm buzz in his chest. Had Dean Winchester implied they were friends now? He swallowed a smile and tried to remind himself to be detached. "There is no need. I will be able to find you wherever you are."

Dean nodded slowly, his eyebrows raised. "Okaaay…I'll just ignore the creepiness in the statement and take your word for it." He threw the blue-eyed man an easy, charming grin. "See you around Cas." He climbed into the Impala and started the engine with a purr. He gave a final, half-hearted wave to the figure in his headlights before backing up and driving away into the twilight.

Castiel remained there for a bit longer, considering the activities and transgressions he had just committed with Dean Winchester. In the end, his contemplation yielded no regrets about his actions and he set off to find that assignment. He predicted it would be a gleeful sentence to execute. The Black Death? The Crusades? Perhaps the midst of the French Revolution? There were so many _options_. Someone who had killed a child in a hit-and-run deserved no less, after all.


	6. Near, Far, Wherever You Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Cas! It's been forever since we've seen you!" Dean strode forward and clasped him by the shoulders, giving him and affectionate shake.
> 
> Castiel considered this. "How long has it been, Dean?"
> 
> Dean half-turned toward Sam. "God, how long? …Like two, two and a half years?"
> 
> So that was how long it had been for Dean. Castiel was not subject to the passage of normal time, what with his job description and all. At his estimate, it had only been two months since Cas was last with Dean; they had been on the trail of a wendigo. Apparently for Dean it had been much longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy this chapter that is full to the brim of soulful eye contact and homoerotic subtext (buttsex?), but with no meaningful plot exposition! Well, maybe there's a little character development- for Destiel's sake -but mostly I was just trying to give Dean and Cas some time together before I set their lives on fire. I wanted to write several more chapters of Dean and Cas just chilling and doing their thang, but I thought that would get boring real fast 'cause all of us just want this to get to the good part already, right? And yes, this chapter's title is totally a crack reference to that Titanic song xx

Eventually, Cas used his grace to mojo all the vampire blood away—once he'd gotten his kick out of looking like a bloody zombie in front of his assignments. There had been several gratifying experiences where he had scared the wits out of humans.

For the most part, Castiel kept on the straight and narrow. He finished his assignments efficiently, yet with the proper amount of terror. Even Gabriel noticed that Castiel was accomplishing his assignments faster than usual, but since he didn't have any proof (moreover, he didn't want to _find_ any) that the lesser angel was breaking any laws, Gabe had to leave him alone.

The reason for Castiel's increased productivity? Dean. After their joint hunt of the vampire nest, he began finishing each of his assignments rapidly in order to join in on more hunts with the two brothers. Dean had quickly warmed up to his presence and was trying his damned hardest to introduce Cas to a life of alcohol dependency, dragging him to a bar after every hunt. However, he quickly learned that Castiel could hold his liquor and was often drunk under the table by the angel. With this lesson in mind, and several well-deserved hangovers, he began challenging other bar-goers to out-drink Cas, in order to help the trench coated hunter make some (unnecessary) money on the side.

While Cas never became inebriated, Dean began to notice the other man's guard would drop and he would be a little tipsy. On these occasions, Dean tried to ask about the other's life and family, but Cas would quickly clam up and the giddiness would wear off. So Dean settled for telling jokes and talking about random things, encouraging the angel to be more talkative that his usual, stoic self.

On hunts, Cas became _Castiel_ in Dean's mind; someone fearsome and with the fighting skills of a god. Dean might also be afraid (not that he'd admit it) of this Castiel, would he not see the shine of warmth in those impossibly blue eyes or feel the protective gaze on his back during hunts.

Dean was tactile by nature. He noticed that Cas would shy away and freeze from his touch, so tried to restrain himself. Sometimes he would forget himself and pat Cas on the back, whereupon he would immediately step away in apology and resolve again to keep his apparently unwanted touches to himself. Usually Dean never made such concessions or gave such an avid attention to make sure another hunter was comfortable, but he did so for Cas. In short, he had become surprisingly friendly and close to someone outside his family.

As for Cas? Cas was happy. Never before had he experienced this depth of companionship, not even with his angelic brothers and sisters and those in-between. The angel was well aware that his siblings considered him to be doing the "dirty work" for Heaven. As far as they were concerned, Castiel and his ilk were Heaven's hitmen. Or perhaps, as Cas thought Dean would phrase it: the bouncers to Heaven's exclusive club. He no longer minded the isolation of his job as much as he used to. Why should he, when Dean willing gave him the friendly touches his own family denied him? So he allowed himself the luxury of being around Dean.

When the angel's assignments took him to the years before he and Dean met, Cas would follow him on hunts, unseen and unheard. It was a protective gesture on Castiel's part, some hidden and forgotten genetic code in his race, an instinct to protect those under his charge. Without either of the brothers' knowledge, he would assist in killing the monster; or at the least he would watch their backs. But no matter when in the world he was, Cas would always prefer his place by Dean Winchester's side as guardian.

As of yet, no superiors had noticed the swift and subtle change in Castiel's alliances.

Sam Winchester, though, _had_ noticed Dean's. "Castiel did this, Castiel did that, Castiel does this that way…" Holy hell, it never ended. As much as he wanted his brother to be happy, he dd not want it at the expense of Castiel staying around. And so he continued his endeavor to drive the trench coated hunter away, for whatever his personal motivations were. Unfortunately for the younger Winchester, Castiel did not pick up on hints, nor did he seem to grasp any rudeness shown in his direction. All Sam could do was watch as his brother and the strange man became closer. His mind was most at peace when Castiel was absent for a long period of time; although it made Dean irritable and uneasy, Sam would gratefully deal with it. But when they randomly encountered the other man on hunts, he would feel his blood pressure and anxiety skyrocket because as much as he wanted to keep Dean and Castiel separate, his brother was as close to a rebellious teen as a grown man could get. He stayed home at the hotel most nights, playing the role of disapproving parent when Cas had to carry/drag/drive Dean home from the strip clubs, bars, and the like.

"Cas! It's been forever since we've seen you!" Dean strode forward and clasped him by the shoulders, giving him and affectionate shake.

Castiel considered this. "How long has it been, Dean?"

Dean half-turned toward Sam. "God, how long? …Like two, two and a half years?"

So that was how long it had been for Dean. Castiel was not subject to the passage of normal time, what with his job description and all. At his estimate, it had only been two months since Cas was last with Dean; they had been on the trail of a wendigo. Apparently for Dean it had been much longer. "What has happened in my absence?"

Dean shrugged noncommittally. "There was a pretty bad hunt a couple months back with a werewolf, and I was bedridden for weeks after that. This is actually my first hunt back."

Cas' brow furrowed in concern. "How badly were you injured?"

He tried to play it off lightly. "It wasn't _that_ serious. Just a couple of broken ribs, punctured lung, concussion…to name a few." Dean shrugged again offhandedly, uncomfortable with the blue gaze pinning the lie in his body language.

"You should have been more careful."

"You should have called me and been there," the response came quickly, almost an angry retort to Castiel's statement. The hunter cleared his throat and gave a short smile, trying to turn it into a joke, but both men heard the hurt in his voice and the unspoken _Where were you?_ underneath.

Castiel continued to hold Dean's gaze, choosing to ignore the breach of personal space as he stepped closer. "I will be there next time," he offered with quiet intensity, voice rough with apology.

Dean nodded tensely, but his face softened. "I'll expect to see you then Cas."

And the next time, Cas was there in 2013 with Dean on that werewolf hunt and he saw the future morph into one where Dean had never been injured; where Dean's trust increased in him even more, since Cas had never let him down.

Castiel's duties began to get more and more neglected as he sought to spend more time with Dean. But lately as he was scanning his list, he began to notice that more and more names were associated with minor crimes. Actions Heaven had never taken notice or offense to before suddenly became grounds for temporal displacement. Humans who had previously gone to dens of inequity without punishment were suddenly now on Castiel's hit list. Others who skipped Sunday morning church appeared also. Mothers who stole food to feed their starving families; adolescents who lied to their parents about where they had spent the night; humans of other religions were all on his list. These committers of various transgressions were beginning to outnumber those Castiel felt truly deserved punishment. It made him uneasy and hesitant to continue smiting, and he wished he could ignore the heavy, pressing duties of his time-sensitive job.

While he did not stop punishing humans entirely, he began thinning the list and placing priority on those with the more severe crimes. Which he was not, in fact, supposed to do. Top to bottom, that was the rule. Heaven's rule. Heaven's law. And breaking that law was going to get him in for a universe of trouble and pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On FF, someone asked "Can Cas jump to the same point in time twice?" I present to you my hella-condensed explanation:  
> Oh lordy you have no idea how many Wikipedia articles on temporal paradoxes I went through in order to give you an answer. I'll provide the titles (i'd provide links but I don't know how?) I based my _extremely_ rudimentary explanation upon: wiki/Temporal_paradox (See bottom of article on "Summerville's Timeline Theory") and wiki/Predestination_paradox . Initially I was hoping to think of a really simple answer, and then I realized: this is time we're dealing with, who the heck am I kidding? Nothing is simple. So imagine a perfectly smooth rectangle object that is solid the entire way through. That's the universe. Now imagine a sphere that is fairly small compared to this rectangular object. This sphere is Cas. So just picture him as a completely unattached sphere in relation to the box. When he time travels to find his "assignments," he is taking his _single_ corporeal form and going to a different spot on the box. Cas is, essentially, his own little universe. His timeline is so messed up that it's just a big ball of timey-wimey…stuff. Technically in the box's universe, he doesn't exist: he's just hitching a ride. It's just a thing of his biology, self-defense and such, so he doesn't create a horrible paradox by meeting himself by accident. In short: yes, Cas can return to the same point in time more than once because he doesn't _technically_ exist simultaneously with any of his past or future selves. Any actions that will cause a difference in the future are supposed/predestined to happen and will simultaneously affect the future. 
> 
> I hope you all appreciate how much I abbreviated this explanation. Initially it was a good 700+ words whereupon I rambled and expanded on exactly how Cas' job works which isn't entirely necessary right now, so it was cut.


	7. Quiero que siga asi, tu alma pegada a mi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas had picked up a lot of bad habits from Dean; the least of which were: breathing, talking to oneself, smiling—oh, and swearing. The first time Castiel had uttered a mild profanity in front of his superior, they nearly had a coronary, or an angel's version of one, so like a grace attack. That had gotten him reprimanded severely.

Cas stood in front of the abandoned structure for several minutes, debating whether to even go in at all. If he went in there were two options he could choose from. The first was simple: remain invisible, and help if absolutely necessary. Option two was more risky: pretend to be who Dean thought he was, Castiel the hunter. He would be walking the razor's edge by continuing to make this ridiculous contact and relationship with the human. It was unreasonable, and it went against Heavenly conduct. Gabriel had warned him to stop messing around because while that archangel didn't care as much for with whom Castiel dallied, the others did care a lot and he wouldn't be able to hold them back when they found out. _When._

He could not decide and rapidly switched from one plan to another, reconsidering, and re-reconsidering. He didn't particularly want to experience whatever punishment his superiors had planned for him, but counter to that, Dean was a magnet for him. He was the one constant in Castiel's universe, and he didn't want to give up the one familiar thing he'd ever had. From another point of view, he made an odd figure standing in front of the house, flickering in and of sight, looking like the gray static of old televisions. Of course though, there was no one else to see.

It was a lovely evening in early 2013, so of course Sam and Dean decided to spend it checking out a rickety old house on the edge of town. All previous owners were driven away fairly soon after purchasing it, claiming there was a violent spirit in the house that tried to kill them (and apparently it had succeeded with a few). When they arrived there, they left the Impala parked in front of the old-school style wraparound porch and began doing EMF readings.

After going through the whole perimeter and interior, they met up in the foyer again and nodded to each other. Yup, ghosts. Yup, plural. So to sum it up: nice warm evening, beer waiting in the car, and a house filled to the brim with violent ghosts. _De_ -lightful.

The brothers were casing the first floor, iron fireplace pokers in hand, when Dean signaled for Sam to stop for a sec. "Do you hear anything?" he murmured, clutching the poker.

Sam glanced around warily. "I don't think so. Did you?"

Just then Dean jerked around and swung the poker viciously, narrowly missing Sam—who noticed that Dean was jabbing at thin air.

"There, there I felt it! A breath down the side of my face!" Dean prowled around the room, his green eyes glinting predatorily in the dimming light. He swung the poker around him again. "I feel like something's watching me, but I don't know where from." His jaw clenched, clearly uncomfortable with having the bottom hand against anything supernatural.

Sam looked at his brother as if he were crazy. "I don't see anything, Dean. You sure about this?" He glanced around again, slightly more nervous.

"I'm sure," the other hunter growled, and he stalked out of the room and began slowly climbing the rickety staircase while Sam followed hesitantly.

Cas held his breath, trying to stand silent and still. He had not meant to startle Dean, but the floorboards in the old house were very creaky. All he wanted was to scope out the house without Dean or Sam seeing him, just in case his secret angelic assistance was needed. Plus, he was having a hard time shaking off the breathing, a habit he picked up from Dean. Gabriel had mentioned it on one of his brief check-ins. Come to think of it, Cas had picked up a lot of bad habits from Dean; the least of which were: breathing, talking to oneself, smiling—oh, and swearing. The first time Castiel had uttered a mild profanity in front of his superior, they nearly had a coronary, or an angel's version of one, so like a grace attack. That had gotten him reprimanded severely. Heavenly avenging angels weren't supposed to say "asshat" when referring to _ass_ ignments.

Cas snapped out of his thoughts when a heavy thud resounded through the ceiling above him. He rushed upstairs in a flurry of wings, appearing in time to see the older Winchester be flung through a wall. Castiel's vision bled red momentarily as he searched the room for the ghost. He found it immediately; an angel's senses were much more sensitive to detecting spiritual anomalies than a human's.

…Three Minutes Ago…

Dean didn't mention it to his brother, but he didn't feel the stare leave his back until he went upstairs, though he swore the presence was still lingering in the house. He tried to shake off the strange and creeped-out feeling that settled in his gut. He couldn't tell if the presence seemed malicious or benign or what; all he knew was that an unknown something—one?—was watching him. He tried to focus on searching the rooms rather than the uneasiness, hoisting the poker over his shoulder like a baseball bat.

Then Sam's string of curses caused him to whirl around just as his brother was hurled across the room and the floor with a solid thud. Dean winced in sympathy, feeling the empathic burn of getting the breath knocked out of his lungs. He couldn't wait to see if Sam was getting up while he hit around blinding with the poker, trying to track the vague distortion that was the ghost, like looking through a glass bottle.

"Goddammit," Dean swore. Okay, it was totally unfair that ghosts could be invisible and psychopathic killers from beyond the grave. One superpower at a time! Suddenly, for a brief moment, he felt weightless—until pain radiated throughout his chest and he crashed through a sheet of drywall. It took him a moment to get his bearings while plaster dust settled around him, getting in his eyes and lungs, causing him to cough and tear up at the eyes.

Castiel kept an eye trained on Dean's form trying to extricate himself from the wall. The other eye he kept on the spiritual distortion before him. He reached out to it with a cold fury and gripped its ectoplasm, channeling all his righteousness into the grace. The distortion before him began to glow brighter and brighter until it disappeared in a burst of blinding white light. His anger went with it as he worriedly turned back to observe Dean—and Sam too of course.

Dean braced his hands on his knees as he bent over coughing. "What the hell was that?" he rasped. "I'm seeing stars."

Sam blinked rapidly, trying to coax his pupils out of their painful constriction. "I have no idea. You think it just burned itself out?"  
"No ghost we've encountered before has ever done that. This is weird, even for us." Dean shook his head, dismissing Sam's hypothesis and immediately regretted it when the room spun again. He groaned and bent down to grab the poker from among the wall debris.

While Sam and Dean discussed what had just happened, Castiel tried to edge his way past Dean through the door way. Perhaps he could make himself visible downstairs and then make contact with Dean—and Sam—when they returned outside. It would be simple enough to pretend he was hunting in the area as well, a part he was well-versed in playing. It was just too tempting to talk to Dean, albeit as more of a stranger rather than a friend, considering the year they were in. He was too wrapped up in his plan to remember the most dreadfully unfortunate aspect of the house: its creaking floorboards.

He was just past the threshold of the door when the board underneath his foot creaked loudly, the unmistakable sound of the floor being stepped on.

Dean whirled around with a roar, aiming directly at Cas' chest with the iron weapon. "I know you're here, and I know you're behind me, you son of a bitch!"

Cas panicked. With his concentration lost and without thinking, he made himself visible. Dean didn't shirk from the sudden appearance of a threat he'd been anticipating for so long. Now with a target, he shifted his aim to the vessel's heart. Cas instinctively put his hand up to block the blade, like he had done so many times before when fighting against a particularly difficult and precocious evildoer. "Dean, _no!_ " His voice rang throughout the house, making the window panes explode and shatter.

The hunter's face had less than a split second of surprise as Castiel's naked palm touched the strip of wrist that had appeared from under his coat sleeve. Then Dean disappeared.

…......

Castiel stood there frozen, his arm still outstretched before him, in the same spot Dean had been in barely a moment ago. What had he done? He began shaking convulsively, trying to reign in the sudden abundance of emotion: terror, distress, the pain of loss. A new future snapped itself into place, and while he could remember everything, since it was his own past, he realized that every single being on the earth had no idea of what should have been. Dean especially would have no clue of anything that had happened and changed between him and Cas over the course of their friendship in the years that should have followed.

"What the fuck did you do to Dean?" a voice demanded. Castiel couldn't remember who. Who had been in the room as well? He slowly came to grasps with reality again, bringing him face to face with the Colt. He stared unblinkingly at the gun, faintly recognizing it from lore.

His shoulders slumped. He'd have to explain it all now, wouldn't he? Sam would not believe him, nor side with him, considering his attitude in the past. "That gun will not harm me, Sam. You might as well put it away, since I am not going to attack you."

The hammer of the gun clicked back. "You attacked Dean."

Castiel exhaled a drained sigh. "I did not mean to. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen, this was never supposed to happen." He passed a hand roughly over his face, unconsciously mimicking Dean's habit, feeling much older than his millennia. "Come. I will try to explain." It crossed his mind as an order, but came out as a plea. "First we should leave the house; it is not safe with all the ghosts." He stepped to the side and waited as Sam slowly crossed in front of him, keeping the barrel of the Colt firmly aimed at his forehead. He trudged down the stairs, letting the younger Winchester follow at his own speed, allowing him the comfort of the pretense of control with the gun pressed to the back of his head.

He stood stone-still on the porch while Sam demanded the truth for a third time. "That is the truth, Sam," he replied calmly. "You can choose whether or not you want to believe me, but you cannot choose what _is_ and what _isn't_. And this is."

"Okay, no. Stop lying to me." Sam shook the demon knife at Castiel, having opted to switch it for the gun now he was close to this strange _thing_. "There is no such thing as angels! I should know! I've prayed every night since I can remember. I've prayed from God to every saint to every angel I can think of, and not a single thing I've ever begged for has ever been answered. How can you account for that, huh?" he demanded.

Castiel stared him down with his blank blue eyes. "Prayers are rarely directed to me. As I informed you thusly, I am an avenging angel. Your prayers would never have been under my jurisdiction unless you were summoning me for revenge. Most likely they went through a process of appeal with the others, and they ended up not feeling the need to intervene."

Sam glared at him and stretched tall over the "angel," trying to compensate for the very small and vulnerable feeling next to the soft-spoken man who claimed to be a goddamn angel. His jaw flexed furiously. "You killed Dean," Sam growled. "Look, I tried to do what Dean told me to do. I tried not to be too hard on you, I tried to trust you, you son of a bitch. Look where it got me. I knew some bad shit would happen because of you. _Fuck._ "

Castiel narrowed his eyes. "You are calling for vengeance upon me. You ask for retaliation upon the one who took your brother from you. Do you understand what your request entails?" Cas, of course, understood what it meant were a human to ask an avenging angel to wreak vengeance upon itself.

The human's eyes widened almost comically. "How the hell did you know that?"

"You channeled your thoughts to me. Your mind is crying out for anyone to listen, and I am the one who is." Castiel straightened, his vessel's heart oddly constricting in his chest. "I will attempt penance for my actions, and I will do anything you ask of me to my best ability."

"I want you to bring Dean back from the dead—"

"I cannot—" Castiel interrupted.

"Then I want you to kill yourself," Sam replied instantly, coldly.

The angel froze. Then extended his angel blade, the only real weapon capable of killing him. He looked at it, considering his reflection, before bringing the point to his throat. "If you would desist in interrupting me, I feel it only prudent to warn you that my death—"

" _Do it."_

"If you force me to go through with this you will never see you brother again I can find him I am the only one who can find him and I will if you would just allow me the chance," Cas said in a burst of words, not even pausing. Sam said nothing. He took a very unnecessary, very human deep breath and began pressing the blade deeper. He was bound by Heavenly oath to do as he had sworn.

"Wait."

Castiel immediately stopped, wishing to gasp in overwhelming relief. Not particularly for his own life, but for the renewed chance he might have to save Dean.

"Explain what you mean."

He resheathed the blade, hoping it would no longer have use. "I do not think you understood what I meant. I did not kill your brother. In fact, he should be very much alive. I merely sent him back in time."

"Oh yeah," Sam replied sarcastically. "You _just_ sent him back in time. Remind me to send you a thank you card for not doing something horrible."

The angel's blue eyes flared with anger. "I am trying to help," he bit out. "Now can you please let me explain?" He paused, waiting for another argument or bitter reply. "I can find Dean; it might take time, but I have an unlimited amount of time. I was not focusing on any specific time period when I made physical contact with Dean, so I do not know exactly where I sent him. But he is alive, I swear to you, for now. I would search the entire life and expanse of the universe to find him."

Finally, after a long heartbeat, Sam dropped the knife. "Find him," he demanded coldly. "I don't care how long it takes; you find him and you bring him back to me. Then you get the hell out of our lives, and I never want to see you again."

Castiel nodded once, bowing his head in acquiescence. "As you command, so shall I do."

…

_Blink._

Dean spun around, freaked out, disbelieving. This was some kind of hallucination. He grasped several different poor passersby and shook them all, asking them the same round of questions. "Where am I?"

"London, England?"

"What day is it?" he shook them with increasing fervor.

"Tuesday?"

" _What year?_ " He finally asked the golden question, having avoided it ever since he saw the abundance of _things_ that should be antique or vintage, not running around on the street: cars, buildings, clothes…

"1959," they stammered, yanking themselves out of his limp hands and hurried away. They had to be lying. Dean searched around and his eyes landed on a stack of newspapers by a shop door. He ran over and picked one up, violently shaking as he scanned the page. The air felt like it had been punched from his lungs. September 18, 1959. "Hoshit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from the song 'Te he echado de menos' (I Have Missed You) by Pablo Alboran and it means "I want your soul to remain like this, stuck to me." Well, it roughly means that anyway. Sorry I couldn't find a better chapter title :/ it seemed symbolic at the time. Either way it's a great song and it'll totally apply to Dean and Cas' relationship sooner or later.  
> Also, sorry for making Sam a huge frickin' douchebag. He gets better, promise.  
> I screwed myself over when I said this next chapter was already mostly written. Because as soon as I sat down to review it a final time on Saturday, I immediately decided some things had to go, many things had to be added in, and everything had to be changed entirely. I'm having a lot of issues with my creativity because lately it's been like: It's the middle of second period. Write this short idea down for later. Just kidding, now it's sixth period and you've filled six pages front and back. OR it's 1 AM. Write. And what you write isn't even going to be in the next chapter. Nope, this is for ten chapters from now. Mwahahaha I own you, puny writer. 
> 
> _I am really tired._


	8. Albatross

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean was totally a superhero.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> albatross (n) - a psychological burden that feels like a curse
> 
> [Weight of Living Pt. I by _Bastille_ ]
> 
> Warning: murder and some blood. Not really gory or descriptive, just mentioned.

Dean's first week in 1959 was spent in a jail cell, detained for various charges of destruction of property, public nuisance, and assaulting a police officer. Since he had no money to post bail, he remained in there while he waited for a judge to sentence him. When he was released, it was with the conditions of repairing or paying for the properties he destroyed, as well as a hefty fine for everything else. He was also ordered to report to the American embassy in order to replace the passport he'd 'lost.'

Either way, Dean was screwed. Utterly screwed. How the hell was he supposed to pay off all this crap if he didn't even properly exist yet? Even if he was able to pay off his fines, he still had to pay for food and lodging _while_ he worked, not to mention how much cash it would take to pay someone off to make him a fake passport, and then to buy a ticket to New York. He figured it would take him up to a year to earn up enough money, not to mention having to stay under the radar.

After finally having accepted his lot in life, he set out to find some dubiously honest work. With his charm and handsome face, Dean had no trouble finding work of all kinds. After three days working the streets, he'd earned enough money to convince someone in the unsavory area of London to rent him a room and work at the illegal drinking established located nearby. He preferred to be around the type of people who didn't ask questions, which was why he'd rather work four low-paying jobs in the ghetto than a fair-paying one up in the posh streets.

A month past his arrival in 1959, he established a schedule for his life, trying to fill the loneliness and fear with busywork. He tended the illicit bar from late afternoon into the late night, whereupon he'd go off duty and proposition bargoers who would accept more often than not. It wasn't the most savory way to supplement his income with easy work, but hell his dignity had made concessions in order to pay for food and rent before. He tried not to dwell on any of it. In the wee hours of the morning he stumbled out of unfamiliar beds to find his own and gain another hour or two of sleep to round it up to his usual rest of four. When the sun rose he was up to deliver newspapers as quickly as he could before heading to waiter at a restaurant until his shift began at the bar.

Dean Winchester didn't make friends; he made allies. He made allies with patrons who had important connections; he made allies with criminals; and he made allies with the people he worked with. People began flocking to him like moths to a candle after he began making a reputation for himself as the aloof enforcer of the unspoken laws in the slums. He was the one someone went to if they were being robbed, or stalked, or mugged. He never asked for much in lieu of payment, perhaps a meal, a drink at the bar, maybe some clothes, and in return Dean would teach the instigator a lesson. Rapidly, people learned to keep their morals on mostly the high ground when he was nearby. 

Once when he'd caught a douchebag trying to slip something into their date's drink, he'd left them badly beaten in the alleyway outside. Another person had stolen all the money two parents had been saving up to send their child to college, but the next morning all the money had been replaced, with no explanation. Even schoolyard bullies were not spared a lesson when Dean caught them beating on younger classmates; they were given a stern lecture to quit doing it or…It was implied that if they continued to beat people up when they were older, Dean would find them. This was one of their three warnings.

After this intervention in the schoolyard, children began to hero-worship Dean, even the former (now-reformed) bullies. They exchanged tales of his heroic actions they overheard from their parents' dinner table. For the kids without enough money for books or entertainment, he became their hero.

"Did you know Dean got in a fight last night? He totally _crushed_ the _five_ guys that ganged up on him!"

"Whoa, really?! They must've been new! I heard that last week, Dean set all of Mr. Barham's alcohol on fire when he heard him beating his dog again!"

"Okay but did you hear that Ms. Maison was mugged last night and she got stabbed and Dean was the one who found her and kept her from ex-ex-san-guin-ating and then he went and found the guy that did it and beat 'im up!"

"No way! D'you think she'll be better in time for Monday's lesson? Dean said it was real important to get 'n education.

Dean was totally a superhero.

Even the mothers liked him. No matter how late or early or busy he was, he always tried to help them fix stuff, or he'd drop off any "extra" food he had. They all knew Dean probably bought it with his own money, or took it from his own pantry—they could see how lean he was getting—but they couldn't afford to refuse it with hungry mouths to feed.

Some of the husbands didn't appreciate Dean's solicitousness and approached him threateningly at the bar. Dean merely waved their concerns aside and told them that if they had no problem watching their family starve, they could go ahead and kick his ass. They learned quickly. He also took it upon himself to stop allowing known domestic abusers into the establishment, as well as cutting off any violent drunks before they were thoroughly drunk.

In return for Dean seemingly taking it upon himself to act like a Western sheriff in the middle of London, the community kept their mouths shut about any of his actions and denied everything when the cops came asking questions. They let Dean keep to himself, but with subtle gestures and kind conversations, they made it abundantly clear that he was one of their own.

Thus passed five months and Dean found himself having survived to 1960.

It started with brutal killings of sex workers who also frequented the same bar as Dean. Dean had known several of them, and he had liked them. It was a dangerous position to be in for the murderer. One did not simply kill someone Dean Winchester liked without it coming back to bite them on the ass sevenfold.

Dean had just been laying down to catch his four hours of sleep when there was a racket, a racket banging at his dingy flat's door. He shot up, all thoughts of sleep forgotten, and grabbed a large hunting knife he kept under his pillow. He snuck over to the door cautiously cracking it open and quickly hiding the knife behind his back. It was just Charles, one of the older kids on the street.

"Man, what is it?" he demanded gruffly. Eyeing the boy's wild, excited posture. "And stop bouncing. You'll wake up Mrs. Dalson's baby downstairs."

Charles stood still immediately, practically at military attention, but his eyes still danced with thrill. "Sorry, but my mum told me to fetch you real quick! There's a dead body out back of the bar!"

Dean started to shut the door, saying, "You know I don't do dead bodies. Call me if it's a bully, or the monster under your bed, okay? Leave the regular dead bodies to the actual police."

The boy shoved his foot between the door and the frame, pressing his face against the gap. "Trust me, you'll wanna see this. Momma pushed me away before I got a good look, but I saw anyway. Their throat was ripped out. So much blood."

The man's jaw tightened, and he nodded tersely. "Alright, I'll come." He threw on the previous day's clothes, grabbed an even larger knife, and the two of them ran down to the bar.

"Hey, Ms. Hanover."

The older woman's creased face relaxed in obvious relief. "Dean, thank god you're here." She wiped her hands on her apron and hustled him towards the back door, fixing a stern eye on her son. "Stay put, Charles. Don't come out back, you hear me?"

After closing the door to the bar light and raucous drinking, she slumped against the wall. "My lord…it's just terrible. I didn't touch her, 'cept to push back her hair and see who the poor girl was. It's Joan." The bartender ran a shaky hand over her face. "I'm very sorry to bother you, Dean. I know you need your sleep, but I didn't want to leave this 'till your shift."

"It's okay ma'am, no problem at all. Do you want to go back inside? I think I can take care of myself." Dean crouched next to the body, looking up expectantly.

"Bless you boy, I think I will." Ms. Hanover leant over and placed a motherly kiss on his cheek. "I'll make sure no one bother you. And don't you worry about the other girls; they've already found beds for tonight."

Dean nodded. "Good. Can you check up on all of them in the morning?"

"Of course. Dean? Thank you for all you've done here. It was getting real bad just before you came, and now it's so much better. I don't worry as much about my bar girls and Charles. Thank you."

The hunter fidgeted under her gratitude, unaccustomed to being thanked. "It's no trouble at all; this is my business after all." He cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the lump. "Do you know where I can get syringes?" he asked, changing the subject.

Ms. Hanover nodded. "I confiscated a few from a patron on heroin a couple nights back. Don't need to be clean, do they?"

Whereupon Dean shook his head and assured her those would be just fine, she bustled back in and out, returning with the promised syringes. After she left to return to the bar, he quickly filled them with Joan's blood.

He took a moment to stare sadly at her bloodied body. "Who were you going home with, huh? Whoever they were, I'm going to kill them. …God, I wish you weren't in this business. I wish none of us were, but we gotta pay the rent somehow, don't we? You were a great girl though, I bet they'll let you into that big pie in the sky. Hell, maybe I'll see you there after this. Actually, you never know with me; I might end up taking the elevator downstairs. Ha, oh well." He bushed a hand through her hair, probably the only part of her not soaked in blood, and closed her eyelids. Standing up, his gaze was dark and pretty damn murderous as he gripped his knife. Time to go vampire hunting.


	9. Cemetaries of London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Listen to me," he said softly, dangerously, in the voice that made most demons run. The vamp barely flinched. "First, I'm gonna torture some answers out of you. Second, I'm gonna torture you just for the hell of it. Third, I'm gonna kill you—slowly."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side Note: when I say 'the blade' I don't mean The Blade.   
> Warnings: there's a mediocre torture scene and swearing.

Dean had stalked the streets of London all that night, up until the sun crested the horizon and he had to rush back to get to his job. Having not caught the vampire that night, Dean found himself itching to spend every waking moment hunting the monster. However, he knew the fruitlessness of hunting during daylight hours, so he forced himself to go about as normal until the sky blackened.

He barely got any sleep, since all of his waking hours were spent working or searching for the vamp. Quite a few nights he came back covered in blood, having found some other vampire to question about their whereabouts and associates. With the hunt dragging on and no one to help him, Dean became quite run down and exhausted. Most monsters couldn't evade Dean Winchester on their tails for more than 48 hours, yet this one had stayed clear for nearly a week, and was still able to continue murdering other escort-friends of Dean's. It was clever and experienced, for a vampire.

Six bodies in six days, and the neighborhood was on edge, and Dean only had the name McAlister—tortured out of another vamp. It was quieter at night, with more people returning earlier to the relative safety of their homes. Dean always checked in with Ms. Hanover before he went out and prowled around. Sometimes he'd catch the end of a trail and would follow it, but it would be lost in the center of the city and he would have to wait for the arrival of the next night and body.

Upon the eighth night however, Dean was taking the garbage out back into the alley when he saw two figures—one too tall and lean, and the other (perhaps blonde-haired?) petite. With his shout, the taller figure made a rapid move with his hands and Dean could hear the dull crack even from where he was standing. The body had just started to slump against the wall when he was off like a shot, trying to run down the vampire. It was a seemingly useless endeavor, but the Winchester was nothing if persistent.

His lungs burned something fierce and he couldn't tell if his feet were still attached, or if they were just worn out stumps from all the running. While he wasn't exactly gaining on the vampire, he wasn't falling behind either, an impressive feat of itself. Dean knew he wouldn't be able to keep up the pace for much longer, so he decided to go all in and throw a hail mary pass of a knife covered in dead man's blood. He hit his mark's back with a solid thud, almost up to the hilt. Of course a hit like that wouldn't kill a vampire, but Dean knew it would sure as hell slow it down. He made a final push of speed and managed to catch up to the vamp, who was just stumbling away at a slower sprint than before.

Dean emptied as many small blades as he could into the thing, until it was like a walking armory pincushion. At last he was able to wrestle it to the ground, face-up, and grinding the blades in its back even further in. It howled and screamed through its teeth in poorly-concealed anguish. Dean laughed harshly, an ugly sound forcing its way out of his throat. "That's gotta hurt like a bitch," he snarled.

Up close, Dean could now see that the vampire would look like some kid in their early-twenties, if it weren't for his vicious-looking teeth and the face twisted in an ugly grimace. "Come on, ugly, can't handle a little burn?"

The vampire coughed wetly, trying to cackle. "Doesn't hurt as bad as it hurt you, your little _friends_ dying. You're gonna die too, maybe not by me, but one of the others will find you." It wheezed another sneer.

Dean's face contorted in fury as he whipped out his biggest knife yet and drew it lightly across the vamp's throat, just barely dancing across the skin and having blood well up behind it. "Listen to me," he said softly, dangerously, in the voice that made most demons run. The vamp barely flinched. "First, I'm gonna torture some answers out of you. Second, I'm gonna torture you just for the hell of it. Third, I'm gonna kill you—slowly. Of course you could give me my answers willingly, but that wouldn't be fun. So first question: Why kill all those girls? No vamp can possibly be stupid enough to mess with a hunter's friends, not even you, jackass."

The vampire McAlister snorted, baring his teeth and black eyes glittering in the dark. "None of your—" he grunted as the blade pressed deeper into his throat. "Fffineeef— _fine!_ The orders were to make anyone allied with you suffer! And to kill you!" he choked out bitterly, throat convulsing on blood, which he spat at Dean's face.

Dean bared his teeth in return, paying no mind to the blood spattered across his face. "What orders?" he demanded. "There's no way I've even been here long enough to piss off some underground big shot!"

McAlister tried to cackle again, a horribly twisted sound coming from someone who looked so young. "I would have killed them without being told to anyway, and you eventually, just to make that seraphic bastard suffer! And oh, I would enjoy that," he chortled.

"Getting pretentious much? Come on, make it to the point! What were the fucking orders?" Dean drew the blade against its skin several more times, viciously pleased at the muffled cries the vamp let out at the touch of dead man's blood.

"The orders were to kill you—at any cost—anyone who helped you—just get rid of you," it rasped, eyes bulging.

The hunter pressed down harder. "Who gave the orders?" he growled, rough with anger and malice, and a whole bunch of repressed emotions.

"Uh-uh-uh!" the vamp sang in a taunting, false falsetto. "Rule number one: don't say anything ab—" he squawked as the knife sank a full third of the way into his throat.

"Castiel? The one who sent out the hit for me: _was their name Castiel?_ " Dean began to shake, his fury finally mixing with adrenaline. "What was their name?" he half shouted, shaking the vamp by the shoulders.

McAlister chuckled in glee, or at least as much coherent sound as he could get out. "No, Castiel will also suffer. I've been waiting _millennia_ to get the drop on him, just watching for the chance to make him suffer and struggle as I did. And now I'm here," he began choking on his own blood again, hacking and struggling for breath he didn't need.

"How do you know who Castiel is? What the fuck are you even talking about?" Dean was losing patience, with more questions being created than were answered.

The vampire surged up towards Dean, and was just barely restrained by the knife in his throat. "You and me Dean, we're alike. Castiel touched me _too_. But you are his little human pet, and there're more coming for ya." McAlister began gurgling through the blood in his throat and reddish foam appearing at his mouth and running down the corner. His eyes shone insanely, wide enough to see the whites of his eyes all around. With a sudden movement, he pulled Dean back down on top of him and his hands forward, decapitating himself in a surprisingly effective way against the pavement.

Dean just sat there for a couple minutes, panting, the blade still clutched in his hand, and blood running down his face and soaking his clothes.

Had McAlister just said there were _more_ coming for Dean? Shit. Shit shit _shit_. Dean's throat worked not to let the unusual fear rising in his chest escape. More? How could there be more? McAlister was the first monster to personally come after him in the half year he'd been in London. No one even _knew_ him here, let alone a bunch of hit men and their boss who wanted him dead.

This was bad; this was so, so, _so fucking bad_. If McAlister had managed to find him despite his new, unknown existence in 1960, that meant his buddies would come along soon enough. Dean ran a freaked-out hand through his hair, mind racing with all the ways he could disappear. This was the first time he'd had to erase himself without anyone else to help. Goddamn, he hadn't even had enough time to save up the expected amount of money to pay off his fines and for airfare. He'd planned on at least another six months to round it out, and now he would need to be gone in a matter of days.

There was no way he could possibly get a fake passport and airfare money that quickly. There wasn't even anyone he could bear to steal the money from.. He was still several hundred dollars short on the airfare, and the impossibility of it all made him want to throw up.

But he wasn't named Dean Winchester for nothing. He pulled it all together in a record four days of paranoia and not eating. Sure, his method(s) of getting the money were unsavory and perhaps involved ridding the world of some truly bad guys, but he refused to let his moral qualms get any more in the way of his survival. He'd grown soft in the past months.

He quit all his jobs and only said goodbye to Ms. Hanover the very night he left, enveloping her in a tight hug, and trying to take any motherly comfort he could garner. With a kiss to her cheek and his duffle slung over his shoulder, he zigzagged through the still dark streets of London to the small airport that didn't ask questions. Only when he was on the plane and watching the city line disappear behind storm clouds did he relax and allow any form of thought and suddenly remember that he was scared of flying. Damn.

After landing in New York, Dean began to work his way across America, trying to get away from all the big cities and highways. He worked his way to Indiana, where he got picked up and basically driven for free to Nevada, which was far and desolate enough for him. Dean made sure to thank his lucky stars for the fucking hippies.

Settling back into life at a small town was an entirely different matter than becoming accustomed to London those first few weeks. For one, Americans were nosy as hell. And rude, so damn rude. Which of course made it no problem at all for Dean to become some sort of a twisted Robin Hood and steal varying amounts of money from the rich families. It was enough to start with.

"What do you mean you can't find him?"

"Not yet. I can't find him _yet_."

"It's been four goddamn hours! No way you could have searched at all."

"It was four hours for you. I have been searching for months. Now mostly, my accidents are sent back several millennia. It is a lot of time and Earth to search. I swear I am trying; I have done nothing but search for him. I've even gone 'off the grid' so that my superiors cannot track me and interfere. I am doing all I can."

"No, okay? I don't fucking _care_ that you're trying."

"Sam—"

"Save it. Because if Dean doesn't come back soon, I swear to God I will kill you myself. That's how it usually works doesn't it? I kill the sire, and everything fixes itself? I ought to just kill you now…"

"Now Sam, Sam…don't be hasty. There has never been any experiment documenting and confirming that occurrence in my kind. It would be irrational for you to kill me, not while we still have a chance at finding Dean. Give me time, please. I will update you with any progress."

"Then hurry up."


	10. You Are More than what You have Become

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hey Garth," Sam grumbled into the phone. "I haven't been able to find anything remotely useful. There really isn't much on 'angel lore' to begin with, much less angels that use time travel as a method of punishment. I can't find anything that confirms Castiel's story or definitively denies it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so it's a while past the season finale, but still-holy hell, right?! Sorry about the lapse in chapters. Finals kicked my ass real well and when I sat down to write a chapter the day after school got out, I somehow finished like a week into June? As a side note, the title is a quote from Mufasa in The Lion King. Anywho, here: have some Sam POV.

Castiel found himself in a drive-in movie park, dawdling in the front row and staring up at the large screen as he became engrossed in the scintillating tale of a prodigal young lion cub forgetting about his destiny through a surprisingly catchy music number. He frowned at the irritated boos and hisses thrown in his direction.

"Hey! You're in the way! Move it, asshat!"

"There is no need to be rude," he reprimanded, having to tear his eyes away from the now-pubescent lion eating a slug.

"You move or I'm gonna make you move! My kid wants to see the goddamn movie!"

Cas tilted his head and squinted at the man in the darkness. "You ought not to blaspheme. Angels are watching, you know. And it is not encouraged to spew profanity in front of your child either." His shadow blocked out a good portion of the screen behind him, a dark threatening giant, and thus attracting the attention of everyone.

"Are you crazy?" This time the question was asked in genuine disbelief.

"That is not a nice way to phrase it; it could offend someone who actually has a mental illness. A better way to phrase it would be 'are you inebriated.' You should try being more tactful," Castiel pointed out helpfully. He looked down, startled, as he felt a light tug on his coat and made eye contact with a young child, a girl of about eight years. She had a sweet face, he noticed as he subtly shifted his bare hand away from her.

"Sorry, mister. You seem new here, aren't you? You're not used to it, so I can help you." She gave him a chubby smile and tugged his coat again, leading him away from the screen as her father followed close behind. "I'm Anna, what's your name?"

"I am Castiel. However, my friends call me Cas—at least they would if I had any." Castiel didn't mind children, but neither did he seek out them out since he'd had a few regrettable incidents (see Montreal 2003 and Alexandria 1248). "I have a sister named Anael. It appears you were named after her." He glanced at the father for affirmation.

The father tensed, sighed, then ran his hand over his face. "Look, buddy, I think it's time for you to leave. The rest of us want to get on with the movie."

The little girl, Anna, looked at her dad pleadingly. "Just gimme a second, pleeeease?" Turning back to Castiel, she make a childish beckoning motion with her hands and cupped her hands to whisper next to his ear. "Say please and thank you a lot, people like that. Also, just listen to whatever people tell you to do: like move away from in front of the tv or not touch hot stoves and cross the street after you look both ways while holding your daddy's hand."

Cas nodded gravely, absorbing the information with the same attentiveness and gravity he applied to everything else. "Thank you, Anna."

She gave him another wide grin. "There you go. Anyway I have to go back, the movie's just getting to the good part with Nala!" She looked conspiratorially at him. "I've seen it four times," she stage-whispered.

"That's a lot. You should go watch it for a fifth." He smiled a bit at her, not a full smile, just a small curve of his mouth and it was enough for her as she ran back to her relieved father who hustled her away from the strange man in a streaker's trench coat.

Castiel straightened and watched them return to their seats, then remembered his assignment and wandered off to find them. He peered in through foggy car windows (earning a couple 'pervert!'s) and got up close and personal with those sitting on the car hoods or grass. Upon tapping on one beaten station wagon's foggy window and enunciating "Sarah Whitlock and April Keating?" through the window he was met with two horrified and panicked faces.

He tilted his head. "Can you open the door? I need to complete my assignment."

Ms. Whitlock was on the verge of tears and trying to hurriedly lock the door. "Please, please, please don't tell anyone! whoever you are. Oh god are you one of my dad's business friends?" she was hysterical as she begged in nonsensical, broken sentences. "We weren't doing anything, it was just a joke it wasn't for real, we didn't do anything!" she repeated through her hiccupping cries.

However April Keating remained silent and frozen, her eyes darting wildly between Sarah and the unknown man staring on in confusion. She suddenly broke out of her trance and her eyes filled with tears as she scrambled to cover herself and comb her hair into seemliness.

Castiel appraised the two girls before him, his forehead wrinkled in confusion. Why were they on his list? After a short deliberation, he concluded that all they had done wrong was premarital sex, and that was hardly an offense regulated by Heaven. Also as far as Castiel knew, the Lord and the Host had always been indifferent towards sexual orientation. He squinted at them through the window. "Have either of you done anything heinous lately? Perhaps murder or torture?" They had no listing of their crimes next to their names and he frowned as they tearfully stammered out that yes, yes they knew homosexuality was a sin and they would go to hell and the devil's passion had consumed them—but they'd never murdered anyone?

He took a step back, his brow now creased in dismay. "I'm sorry, I believe there must have been a mistake…I will go now, and I wish you two a prosperous relationship." He swallowed nervously as the girls stared at him in disbelief. Why were they on his list? "Again, my apologies." He began to shuffle away, tugging his trench coat closer around him; then he paused to incline his head slightly towards them, who were now gawping. "I would also like to say…that you have done nothing wrong. And this…" he gestured at them clutching each other's hands. "Is not wrong. It is right and wonderful for as long as it is right and wonderful for the both of you. I assure you my information is reputable," he added earnestly.

April and Sarah just sat there, shaking and tears drying on their face. Finally they nodded slowly and shifted closer together. The unknown man had turned and walked quickly away from them and in the blink of an eye, he'd disappeared.

Castiel ran through his list of assignments again, concentrating on those without their offenses listed. While he wanted to go through and question each of them individually, in order to see if their cases were similar to Sarah and April's, he simply did not have enough time to divide among searching for Dean and keeping up appearances with his job. Already the other assignments were being neglected, and he knew those higher than him would notice shortly.

…...

Sam Winchester shoved himself harshly away from the table, chair legs screeching obnoxiously on the wooden floor and the papers fluttering to the ground as other library-goers glared at him. He ran his hands through his hair, a frustrated habit acquired even before college from when a homework problem didn't work out perfectly. For a few moments, he stared blankly at the jumble of ancient books and leaflets until he grabbed his phone out of his pocket, eyes still glazed over as he hit speed dial.

The line rang a couple times until a gruff "What?" came through.

"Hey Garth," Sam grumbled into the phone. "I haven't been able to find anything remotely useful. There really isn't much on 'angel lore' to begin with, much less angels that use time travel as a method of punishment. I can't find anything that confirms Castiel's story or definitively denies it."

The other man huffed. "Which of their books have you looked through? That library has the most thorough collection and database in the sept-state area, other than my house."

"I looked through all of them! The entire damn collection is sitting on the table in front of me, and there was not a single fact in there we can use to get Dean back." Sam sighed bitterly into the receiver and thunked his head on the table, earning more glares from others around him.

"So you're gonna give up?" Garth snarked. "'Cause the way I see it, you have two options here: one, you dig through every godforsaken book on angelic lore on the planet and _hope_ you find something that can get Dean back; or two, you sit around complainin' and waitin' for this Castiel to live up to his word. Which we both feel very wary of." There was a pause and a faint swallowing sound from what Sam assumed to be a swig of whiskey. Garth always drank when one of his hunters went missing, a bad habit he picked up from Bobby and intensified after the older hunter's death. "And if you do choose option two, boy¸ I expect you'll have a lotta free time to call me more than once in a blue moon. It's downright shameful that this is the only conversation we've had in months; your three-minute call asking me about research and hanging up as soon as I tell you about that goddamn library does not count, mister."

The young hunter's jaw flexed as he revisited the feeling of being a grounded teenager under Bobby Singer's roof. Seriously, it was uncanny how much Garth had picked up on Bobby's mannerisms. He'd never've thought the skinny hunter could be intimidating, but when he channeled Bobby Singer? Oh boy. Now chastened, he sat up straight again, holding the phone between his ear and shoulder and searched for a specific book among the stack. "You're right; I'm sorry Garth."

There was a short silence until Garth grumbled an affectionate. "Idjit."

Sam finally saw the paper he was looking for and grabbed it. "So get this. I didn't really think of it before, but I think I found a trail. It's an analysis of the King James translation of the Bible, Proverbs 16:14. 'The wrath of a king is as messengers of death: but a wise man will pacify it.' Also Proverbs 16:17. 'The highway of the upright is to depart from evil: he that keepeth his way preserveth his soul.'"

"Yeah, so? You wanna elaborate on that?"

"They're really vague passages, but if you take them in context of an actual, live avenging angel it can make some sense. 'The wrath of a king' could literally refer to a king, or it could mean God. The rest of the passage can be paraphrased as 'the wrath of god appears as messengers of death'—avenging angels," he rambled excitedly.

"That is real vague," Garth commented. "What's 16:17 got to say in non-gibberish?"

"Basically so long as you're not an evil jerk you can keep your soul. I know this isn't real proof or whatever, but it at least corroborates Castiel's story in some parts…" Sam rubbed his eyes, welcoming that oddly pleasant sting.

"I don't know, Sam. That is an awfully thin explanation. It doesn't even explain what 'Castiel' is and what he does, his personal explanation be damned." More drinking sounds and the _snick-pop_ of a beer can opening.

Sam swallowed hard, trying to keep his morale from plummeting any lower and pulling a Dean—as in going to a bar and getting wasted and sexed into oblivion. "What do you want me to do, Garth?" he asked quietly. "There really isn't all that much on how angels work, and I can't not do anything. I need Dean here, but he's not here, and if this were me missing, Dean probably would've had this all wrapped up by now. I don't know how to get Dean back, much less _find_ him, wherever Castiel sent him. What if I can't get him back?"

"Oh balls. Do we have to do this touchy-feely stuff? It's too early in my beer can and my afternoon." The other man was gruff and abrupt, but he softened gradually into someone younger that Sam recognized"Listen to me, Sam Winchester: this is why we're gettin' Dean back. You two are a team and family, always have been. We're gonna get him back, mark my words. I'll even hunt down and skin this 'angel' myself if need be." He laughed thickly and sniffled. "I'll look through my own books as well, and maybe I can get some other partners to help. For now, just concentrate on the terms 'destroying angel,' 'angel of death,' and 'avenging angel,' alright?"

Sam took a deep breath and nodded to himself. "Okay. You're right, we can do this. I'll talk to you later, Garth. Thanks." He hung up and tipped back in his chair, closing his eyes and raising his arms above his head, letting out a small groan at the satisfying stretch. His eyes snapped open when a strange voice and presence in front of him made itself known.

"Oh, Sammy. That was positively pornographic." A golden-haired man spoke, lacing his hands together beneath his chin and grinning cheekily at the tall hunter. "Mmm."


	11. I won't be my father's son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean slammed his fist against the wall, making the shelves rattle alarmingly. "We were friends for _two years_ , Cas, and now it's like I didn't even know you at all. What else did you not tell me, other than you working for the angel Mafia? Any other surprises hidden beneath that trench coat?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, sorry this chapter is hella long. The chapter title is from 'Invisible' by U2.

Castiel turned to face his brother, frowning and tilting his head slightly to the right. "What is this, Gabriel?"

The archangel snorted and raised his arms. "Are you kidding me? That was my dramatic moment! The thrilling revelation of your sweetheart's location!"

Cas eyed Gabriel with some unease. "Sweetheart? Gabriel, please tell me you have not been involved with human sacrifice again. Otherwise I do not understand how you obtained knowledge of what a human's heart tastes like."

"Oh Cassie, _sweetheart_ , you haven't picked up on adorable human pet names, have you?" The golden haired angel mock-pouted and attempted a horrifying imitation of puppy eyes.

"I am—I am not adorable."

"Of course not," Gabriel continued brusquely, executing a military-sharp turn and striding down the street. "Come along, brother," he called as Castiel just stood there in bewilderment.

Cas even had to do a quick jog-walk to catch up to the shorter man. "Where are you taking me?"

The archangel rolled his eyes and sighed with exaggeration. "I thought we just went over this. We're going to go see your sweetheart at work?" At Cas' blank stare, he elaborated. " _Dean Winchester_. Y'know, the human you've been searching for, for like a year and a half? The one you're risking your job and feathery ass for? C'mon." With renewed vigor, he puffed down the street a couple hundred paces before bowing deeply in front of a motel. "He awaits."

Castiel glanced between Gabriel and the front door with trepidation. "Perhaps," he suggested haltingly, "perhaps you should come with me? I don't think I am someone he is willing to see."

"Looks like you are picking up on human mannerisms! Guess all that time I spent looking the other way wasn't wasted after all." He shoved open the door—until it came in contact with a ladder on the other side and the guy working on it came tumbling down. Gabriel grasped him at the hand by the last second, leaving the guy barely hanging off the floor in an odd salsa dancing dip. He flashed a charming grin. "Hey there. Looks like you just fell for me, huh?" He hauled him up with ease, quirking an amused eyebrow at the man's pissed expression.

"Dude, the fuck? Watch where you're going, people are trying to work—" he blanched as he caught sight of Castiel, still half-hidden behind Gabriel.

"Dean…"

"Oh _fuck_ no! Look whatever-the-hell-you-are, I don't know what game you're playing, but I'm playing this version of tag called 'How far can you run away before I stick this screwdriver through your throat?'" With said screwdriver in hand, he pushed forward.

"I would not touch me—" Castiel began.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Christ's sake," he muttered before snapping his fingers and sending Dean flying into a wall across the room, just before he reached the other angel.

"I do not think that much force was necessary," Castiel murmured, shifting closer and eying Dean warily for another attack.

"Oh please, he likes it rough." Gabriel winked. "And I wasn't about to go chasing through another time continuum if he touched you again."

"Still, these humans are very fragile. We ought to take more care," Castiel's voice carried an edge, which though he tried to keep respectful and submissive, did not placate Gabriel.

The archangel's eyes turned sharp and his mouth slid down into an unpleased frown. "Do not forget, brother, that I can break or heal these humans as I please." There was an aborted cry as Dean's lungs collapsed and his shoulder became dislocated, then everything was healed a few long seconds later with another snap of Gabriel's fingers. "I have no obligation to help you, Castiel. In fact, my obligation is to strip you of your duties and rank here and now, possibly leaving you with a punishment. Maybe the punishment would be leaving you be, but breaking Dean Winchester irreparably while you cannot lift a single finger to help him. Do not forget that I don't have to be helping you at all, so your best bet is to do exactly as I say." Gabriel held the taller angel's eyes for a few seconds until Cas looked away.

"I don't want for you to become burdened with my troubles, especially if the other archangels disapprove." Castiel bowed his head in acquiescence, struggling to ignore the wheezing and wincing human in the corner of his vision.

Gabriel scoffed as his attitude made an about turn. "What's the worst Raphael can do? Give me a noogie? Now let's go explain to the handy-man over there why we're here."

Dean spat at their feet as they approached. "What do you want from me? You've already taken everything; I have nothing _left!_ "

"Now Dean-o, is that anyway to greet your saviors? Accept me, Dean, accept me," Gabriel spread his arms and lifted his eyes to the ceiling in a mock-divine manner. "No? Okay then, let's get down to business. You haven't met me yet: I'm Gabriel—yes, the archangel; yes, I am always this sinfully handsome; and no, I will not father your nephilim. You've met Cas, my little brother. He's pretty special. Best not try to touch him ever again."

Dean gaped at him from down on the floor, eyebrow raised in pissed disbelief. "What?"

Gabriel bent down and grasped Dean's jaw firmly, staring the green eyes down with his own golden ones. "Don't. Touch. Castiel. Now just sit pretty and I'll try to explain." He took Dean by the coat collar and dragged him into a supply closet, along with Cas. "Look, we don't have a lot of time to waste. I'm an angel, Cas is an angel, you're a human that accidentally got sent back in time. Castiel is only one species of an entire genus of avenging angels, which is why you two can't ever touch, unless you want to be zapped somewhere else in time and space, capische? Your brother actually didn't do a half-bad job figuring that out, hm. Anyways, Castiel here was supposed to find you and send you home as soon as possible, but he kinda failed spectacularly at that. Don't glare at me, brother," he replied to Castiel's narrowed eyes. "Actually he wasn't even supposed to be near you in the first place, which is why…"

"Hold the fuck up. You talked to Sammy? Stay away from my brother, you son of a bitch. Leave him alone! You have me now, so you don't need him for anything—" Dean's mouth snapped shut as a piece of duct tape sealed it closed and he was tied to a magically-appearing chair, leaving only indignant mumbling sounds and wide green eyes to speak for himself.

"You couldn't have picked another human who is dumb-struck and awe inspired by our presence? This one talks too much for his own good." Gabriel rubbed his forehead in irritation. "Yes, Dean. I went to see your brother. Now, now, he's fine, don't worry. I didn't touch a hair on his sweet gigantor head."

Castiel shifted nervously, glancing at the door and hearing a faint conversation beyond it. " _Gabriel,_ " he hissed. "We need to hurry. Others are nearby."

"Yeah, yeah," the other angel waved his hand dismissively, instead continuing to stare down Dean. "Y'know…" he murmured, "it's a shame Castiel chose to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The both of you had a lot before you." He studied Dean. "Bet you'd like to know what that was, huh? Would have been pretty happy, eventually. Contentment…peace…companionship. That's all you ever wanted, right?"

Dean glared at him defiantly, trying to spit out a muffled, profanity-filled phrase that would make a sailor blush.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "What-ever. Look, here's the thing." He leaned forward and braced his hands on the arms of the chair. Turning his head over his shoulder, he called to Cas, "Go guard the door." He turned back to the human. "There are others coming for you. Originally we were going to take you back to where you came from, but that really isn't an option anymore. That pretty much stopped being an option when Castiel became your friend. Angels are not meant to mix with humans; it has something to do with fucking up The Plan, I don't know. Sending any random human back in time is problem enough, but Castiel just wouldn't leave well enough alone.

"When he touched you, there were two options: go after you and find you immediately, or leave you where you landed. Obviously he tried option numero uno, and when he failed, he decided to neglect his duties _for months._ He did that to find you, Dean. Do you know what Heaven does to angels who leave their post? Or serve Man before the Lord? They're too much trouble, so…" he drew a line across his throat and mimed death. "And you know what they do to the human? Do you?" Gabriel shook Dean's chair harshly, then wrapped a hand around Dean's throat and squeezed slightly.

Dean breathed rapidly, huffing air in and out of his nose as he waited for impending strangulation. Feeling a rush of adrenaline and relief, he still didn't relax even when Gabriel let go and stepped away.

"I know my family is really fucking messed up, but I don't _ever_ interfere. Not like this. They want you dead, and normally I would consider the hunt pure entertainment. Instead, here I am helping you for my brother's sake. He's the only one I see hope for, and your extermination… I wouldn't go so far to say it would _kill_ him, but it would definitely kill whatever makes Castiel, Castiel. You see, he has this weakness, he actually _likes_ humanity. He believes his duties help humanity and make Earth a better place for our pets to live. And if he fucks up his duties so badly—like this time—what does he have left?" Gabriel stabbed a finger at Dean's chest. "Nothing." He stepped back and crossed his arms. "Besides, losing you would break your brother's heart. And I surprisingly don't despise Sam that much. So the obvious solution is protecting you, figuratively taking you under my wing. Hey, if I untie you, will you promise not to run off and let me and Castiel explain where we go from here?"

Dean eyed him distrustfully, but nodded nevertheless. He sighed in relief and took a deep breath when the duct tape disappeared and he was able to stand up, rubbing his wrists and grunting at the burn where some jaw stubble had been taken off.

"Cassie!" Gabriel called. "C'mere! Dean-o is finally willing to listen." He rested a shoulder against the wall and waited as Castiel hurried back over. "Anything you want to say to Dean?"

Dean took a step back and placed a hand over the gun he kept tucked in the back of his waistband. He clenched his jaw as Cas raised those pleading, too-goddamn-blue eyes. "How could you, Cas?" he spat. "I thought we were friends!"

"We were, Dean—we are. I never meant for any of this to happen." Cas tried to speak steadily and clearly. "That was a mistake, and I never meant for you to see me there. I was trying to limit contact at that point…and I failed. I thought you didn't see me, and that was my mistake."

The hunter glared at him with poison in his green eyes. "I see you _everywhere_. I constantly think I see you in the corner of my eye and it's like I'm back in that house, seeing everything ripped away from me! I can't even go to the grocery store without walking in the shadows! Do you know how much it sucks to be paranoid of a guy in a trench coat when trench coats are back in fashion? Even before _this_ happened, I saw you everywhere! Your stupid hair, your fucking eyes, hell even your tax accountant monkey suit!"

"You don't need to be afraid of me, Dean, I would never hurt you. I always protected you on our hunts together, even when you did not know it." Cas searched his former friend's eyes for any sign of friendliness, finding none and saddening his expression.

"Well that's what got me here in the first place, isn't it? Not knowing what you are, not knowing even the most basic goddamn thing about someone I used to trust!" Dean slammed his fist against the wall, making the shelves rattle alarmingly. "We were friends for _two years,_ Cas, and now it's like I didn't even know you at all. What else did you not tell me, other than you working for the angel Mafia? Any other surprises hidden beneath that trench coat?" He snapped, gesturing at the length of Cas.

Cas opened and closed his mouth a few times, debating on what to say. Finally, "If I hadn't touched you in that last house, we would have been friends years into that future. I was there, several times, and you trusted me even up to then."

Dean shook his head and laughed, albeit somewhat uncontrollably. "You're shitting me, right? You mean there is some other future where we're," he gestured between the two of them, "good friends? No way, man, no fucking way."

"There is no other future," Cas corrected. "That future disappeared when you disappeared. But we were friends for years, Dean. I could show you; I can show you what should have happened," he offered. "Perhaps it would ease your trust issues with me?"

"Lord knows you need to trust him," Gabriel muttered, startling Dean who had almost forgotten he was there.

"Oh fuck no!" Dean snarled back at Castiel. "There is no way in hell you are ever touching me again."

Cas carefully kept his face blank of emotion as he tried to banish his internal hurt and didn't mention that physical contact was not necessary.

Gabriel put on a saccharine smile and gave a sarcastic tilt of his head to the hunter. "Then allow me to do the honors, because unlike my dear little brother Castiel here, my touch does nothing but make you beg for more." He winked lewdly at Dean, who stepped back hurriedly.

"Hell no! You're not mojoing me either!" Dean suddenly understood what it felt like to be the one cornered in a situation. "Stay the hell away from me, you kinky bastards."

Gabriel snorted in derision. "Oh you wish." He glanced sideways at the other angel. "But you never know about Castiel…" The angel in question flushed slightly, another charmingly emotional habit he must have picked up from the human. Gabriel re-averted his gaze to Dean and took a step forward, fully cornering Dean against the wall and placed two fingers to his forehead.

Dean was frozen in place, unable to walk away from these freaks, and…and unable to stop the flood of memories that-were-not-quite memories. His mind felt like it was chained to a comet, burning inside his own brain.

_He and Cas killing vampires together. Holy crap, Cas fought like a god._ His train of thought was derailed as the memories hurtled on.

It wasn't an unfamiliar memory; he'd revisited this one often. _A man in a trench coat standing over Bobby, snarling at Dean and becoming defensive. Sitting side by side in a bar, helping his stumbling drunk self out of the establishment._ That was a regular ritual for the two of them after that first time. _Blue eyes always searching his face in darkened strip clubs, eyes that paid no mind to the dancers before him—man nor woman. Always seeking him, electrifying him._

_More hunts, where Cas saved his life more than he could count. More bars, more strip clubs, more smiles the more he talked to Cas. The disappearing act Cas would pull when Dean found someone to go home with at the bar. The disappointment he felt the next morning when Cas was not at the motel and was absent for months after that. Dean eventually stopped going home with other women, men, and variations thereupon, and would wake up to gladly find with relief that Cas was still there. After the bars, he followed Castiel back to the motel where they would continue talking for hours about anything from past hunts on their own to what was on TV._

_The constant presence of the knowledge that Cas would always return, not even having the decency to look a day older or have a change in apparel. Even when Cas was gone for months at a time, Dean never let go of his hope and anticipation, and perhaps a bit of fear. He was fearful of never seeing Cas again. One of them working alone on a hunt, getting killed, left unburned, and the other clueless. Yes, this Dean had been afraid._

_The night in Dean's single hotel room because Sam needed his space after a particularly emotional hunt when Cas had showed up at his door that night, still in his rumpled trench coat and knuckles smarting from knocking on the rough door. How after several bottles of beer each, Dean coaxed the other man out of his heavy trench coat. He remembered feeling hyper-aware of the bundle resting behind him on the couch as they watched crap TV. He vaguely remembered the sound of it dropping to the floor when he accidentally shoved it while inching closer to Cas._

_Cas fixed him with those blue eyes that seemed to brand Dean's soul whenever he looked at him. The burning hurt and pride when Cas had backed away, just when Dean thought he was going to lean in. The shame that wanted to bring tears to his eyes as he leaned heavily against the door after Cas had stumbled out awkwardly, saying he had something to do. As far as he was aware, this Dean—the future Dean—never edged closer again._

The multitude of memories forcing their way into his skull suddenly abated when he felt Gabriel's fingers leave his forehead. He dazedly blinked, trying to clear the dancing spots in front of his eyes and adjust to the unexpected warmth he felt towards Cas now. It was too weird for his liking. He hated Castiel and trusted him with his life at the same time. Sure, Gabriel had given him "memories," but they weren't _his_ memories. They were from another time that would never happen, and he felt the need to make his own judgment with time. Make his own memories and decisions in _this_ context.

Dean took a deep, shuddering breath and rested his head against the cool wall as he waited for the nausea to subside. "Look, that's great and all," he rasped, "and I want to trust you, but those didn't feel like me. Not the me right now, anyway. I need to know you more than what our friendship 'would have been.'" He felt the cold sweat creeping up his neck and tried to keep from gagging. "Dude, what the hell did you do to me? I feel like shit."

Gabriel shrugged. "Nausea is a common side effect. My bad."

Dean glared at him, though still looking a bit green. "Well, now what? Didn't you say there were others coming for me? Hate to break it to you, but a couple have already found me."

The archangel looked at him sharply. "What do you mean? No one has said anything about having found you." He shook Dean's shoulder. "Who found you?"

"Uh, there have been a couple vamps, demons, and a kitsune in the past few weeks I've been in Nevada." Dean looked at him uneasily, spooked by the urgency in Gabriel's voice. "The first one was back in London, a couple months after I arrived there. His name was McAlister or something? Ean McAlister? Not sure about the first name, 'cause I got it from one of my sources hunting him down."

"Damnation."

Gabriel and Dean both looked at Castiel askance, startled by his use of profanity. "Castiel?" Gabe prodded. "Care to explain what made you break a class two covenant of Heaven?"

Cas looked at them, face grim. "That name was on my list, a few years back. It was some adolescent who killed a child on a hit-and-run."

"Hate to break it to you buddy, but your buddy is no teenager anymore. He was full-on vampire, pretty old and powerful too."

Cas frowned. "He was not my friend. He was a transgressor I was sent to punish; I sent him back to prehistoric time. It seemed appropriate. Apparently he managed to get turned into an abomination and survived this entire time…" Castiel paced in agitation, trench coat fluttering behind him.

"Wait, you mean you didn't send him to kill me?"

Cas looked offended. "Of course not," he replied irritably, crossing his arms over his chest.

Dean snorted. "That explains all the crazy shit he said right before I killed him. Something about being touched by you too and waiting millennia to get revenge on you—apparently for sending him back to _prehistoric times_. Jesus fucking Christ, how sadistic are you?"

"Do not blaspheme," Castiel corrected, still pacing and muttering something that sounded like a litany of names to Dean.

"He also called you a 'seraphic bastard," the hunter offered with a snicker, unable to keep a straight face even in the most serious of times.

Cas halted immediately, turning and tilting his head at Dean. "Now that's just rude." He frowned like an offended child and resumed his dizzying walking in circles. "Did he say anything else?"

Dean shrugged. "Not much, just some more talk about how others were coming to get me. Hey, at least he gave me warning. Gotta give the guy some credit for being thoughtful."

"Dean, this is serious," Cas said, looking at Gabriel for affirmation, which he was granted with Gabriel's abnormally serious face. "If one of my assignments is looking for revenge, there may be others. They must have known I was looking for you, somehow I do not know. And if they have found you…"

"They've found Cas," Gabriel finished, keeping his thoughts to himself. Thoughts that surely his brothers weren't serious enough to send out a hit for Castiel; surely they weren't the ones who had set Castiel's former assignments looking for vengeance on his trail. He snapped himself out of his dark suspicions. "I need to get the both of you to a safe house, now. Somewhere warded against every supernatural being in existence because there are things coming for you, and they're coming fast." He clapped Dean on the back. "Dean-o, where are you staying?"

The hunter shook him off. "Here in the motel. It's cheap, so what?"

Gabe clucked his tongue. "Now that just won't do. I'm sure I saw a lovely farmhouse outside of town that would fit our purposes nicely." With a snap of his fingers the three found themselves in the countryside. He studied the surroundings and the exterior of the farmhouse while Dean ran and threw up into a bush. Apparently angelic travel didn't suit the human.

He clapped his hands and rubbed them together with glee. "Cas, go start drawing sigils to hide the house from Heaven and then exorcise any nasties that may be occupying the house already." Gabe called to Dean who was still bent over a juniper bush. "Dean, sweetheart, do you want to go wait in the house or help with the protection symbols?"

Dean spat into the bush. "You know what, Gabriel? I'm fine helping, thanks. But I am not sharing a house with him," he pointed at Castiel's turned back. "I am not playing roomies with a guy I barely know."

Gabe scoffed. "Where do you want my brother to stay? Outside, like some stray dog? At least if he's here, he can protect you to some extent. He looks sweet and placid, doesn't he? But remember what he is like on hunts with you? _That_ is who you want with you in a fight for your life. I don't care if you're uncomfortable, at least give yourself a fighting chance!" he hissed into Dean's ear, holding him by the shoulder of his coat as the hunter snorted and tried to walk away.

Dean looked steadily into the archangel's eyes, refusing to be cowed this time. "I am not sleeping in the same house as him," he enunciated every word softly and dead serious.

The angel shoved him away roughly with dark anger on his face. "Get on the sigils. And Dean?" he called. " _You_ can tell Castiel he is sleeping outside."

The hunter straightened his jacket angrily, raising a middle finger as he walked away. Later, he sidled closer to Cas, feeling a stab as the angel obviously brightened in his presence.

"Dean," Cas greeted, trying not to seem too cheery. "What is…up?"

"The sky, genius, what do you think?" Dean immediately berated himself for responding with too much camaraderie. It was something he'd say to an actual friend, or Sam even.

"I don't understand. Is that a reference to something I ought to be aware of?" Cas returned to painting a sigil on the house, brow furrowed.

Dean coughed. "Uh, no. Not really. Anyway…hey, do you mind staying outside tonight? Better for keeping watch, y'know, and…and…" he faltered when Cas raised his blue eyes to his own, mouth sliding into sadness. "Okay, look, I feel like an asshole just asking, but can you please just stay outside for now? I'm not used to sleeping around other people and I'm still a little uncomfortable with this." He gestured between himself and Cas, waiting for the inevitable denial.

Which is why he was surprised when Cas bowed his head and turned his back. "Yes, of course. I understand. I will do my best to oblige your wishes."

Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Yup, definitely feeling like a jackass. "Well…okay then. Thanks, Cas."

All he got in return was an impassive "The west windows need to be sealed from demons."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh good, you've finally made it to the end of the chapter! Thanks for sticking with it. The next chapter is going to be fairly short since originally it was going to be part of this one, but obviously this current chapter turned out a little...lengthy. So I divided them up. Also, I kinda just wanted to give this next scene it's own special chapter title.
> 
> Anyways, please review? Give suggestions, ideas, anything? I love hearing from you guys and anything that I could work to improve on! Thanks(:~


	12. Black and White and Gray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Of course _others_ have met me. They just have not met me more than once, unlike you and your brother. For an unapparent reason, I often occur where you are and that has led to multiple encounters. However, I don’t know why it was you and your brother. Perhaps some things simply happen of their own accord, and not because of anything we can define.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "With all of the science and technology and the knowledge that we have from the last five thousand years of history, we still don't know what gravity is. We still don't know what attracts two bodies together - on the universe level, on the molecular level and, I think, on the human level, as well… We were doing a show in Munich, and I was reading a story about the neighboring particle collider they'd been working on in Switzerland and France. They're searching for the limit...they're standing on the edge of everything we know in science and trying to figure out what makes up 90 percent of the mass of a molecule and how it relates to the world. Basically, we have a sixteen pound bowling ball of a molecule and we know a proton, a neutron and an electron makes up about a pound and a half. So there's fourteen and a half pounds that we have no idea where the mass is coming from, what it is, what it's made of and what is essentially holding the entire molecule together. So popular culture has called it the "God Particle," trying to figure out what's holding everything together. And I love that idea, that there's so much about life we know, but there's still this humbling reality that there are some things that we have no idea about.” –The Fray Scars & Stories: A track-by-track breakdown from Isaac Slade and Joe King at blogs.westword.com

Dean tossed and turned in bed the first week after Cas and Gabriel arrived. He wasn’t sure how much sleep he was getting, but it definitely wasn’t enough to function beyond vaguely zombie-ish. He spent most of his night somewhere between dreaming and wakefulness. By the end of the week, he could barely tell the difference between his dreams of Castiel and the memories Gabriel had forced upon him. Maybe the dreams were memories; he couldn’t even tell anymore.  
  
 _He’d forgotten what the wind in his face felt like. It took a moment for Dean to recognize he was dreaming, and as soon as he did he tried to forget it, lest he wake up and lose the sensation of the cool night air whipping into his face. Leaning over, he turned up the radio when he heard the faint sound of Rick Springfield._  
  
“Is this volume necessary?” Cas shouted from the passenger seat, cupping his hands over his ears.  
  
“Hell yeah!” Dean shouted back. “For once Sam’s not in the car and I get to actually listen to this song! Don’t tell him, alright!” On an inner level it struck Dean as funny how easy it was just to drive with Cas in the car and talk and feel happy for once.  
  
“You are aware this song violates one of the Commandments?” Cas called over the music.  
  
“What?”  
  
“’You shalt not covet your neighbor’s wife!’ It is sinful to lust after Jessie’s partner,” the angel explained, trying and failing not to shout.  
  
Dean gave him a long side-eye look. “Dude, you’re missing the whole point: it’s not about sex.” Returning his gaze to the road, he drummed his fingers to the beat of the song on the steering wheel.  
  
“The singer mentions her body quite a lot,” Cas pointed out. “I still don’t understand. What is the reasoning?”  
  
Dean shrugged loosely, still tapping his fingers. “It’s not about the sex, y’know? Look, I know that’s what the song makes it sound like, but it’s not. It’s about wanting to hold someone’s hand. It’s about not being alone. You see someone else being loved and you can’t help but notice that’s what you’re lacking. If you’re scared or sad, or whatever, you never wanna be alone. And if you’re lucky enough not to be alone, then you’re gonna look to see who’s beside you, and you’re going to hold their hand. Like this.” He held up his hand on the center console, demonstrating to Cas, though not expecting him to take his hand.  
  
Cas looked at his own hands and interlaced his fingers. “It seems so simple. Holding someone’s hand? Surely there is something more than that.” He shifted slightly so his body was turned more towards Dean so he could watch the other hunter talk and drive.  
  
There was a short silence while Dean smiled to himself and turned down the radio so they didn’t have to shout anymore. “Nope, that’s it. Just a selfish, human thing where we don’t want to be alone, even if it’s only for a night.”  
  
Finally, that seventh night Dean gave up on sleep and padded downstairs to get a snack and a glass of water. He looked out the window to see Cas, sitting on the bench swing hanging from the porch. He watched the angel swing for a moment, then made a snap decision to go out and join him. Not like he had any sleep waiting for him upstairs, right?  
  
He tried to make some noise to alert Castiel to his presence; the last thing he wanted was to startle the angel into some kind of fit or whatever. He walked carefully across the wooden porch in his bare feet, leaning against the porch railing beside Cas.  
  
Cas didn’t turn or look, except to utter a simple, “Dean.” Not a question or invitation for conversation, just an acknowledgement of his presence.  
  
As was becoming their custom, they sat in silence for a while and let the church-like darkness of the night surround them. It was a warm night, humid and muggy, with crickets and other assorted insects chirping their asses off and doing their damnedest to make it sound like a failed comedy night.  
  
“Hey, Castiel? Cas?” Dean asked finally, breaking the silence. “Can you help me out with something?”  
  
Castiel didn’t even hesitate before answering. “Of course. What is it?”  
  
Dean rubbed his hands through his hair a couple times, trying to figure out how to word what he wanted to say, since this was a spur of the moment decision to ask. “Lately I haven’t been sleeping too well,” he confessed. “Like I’ve been dreaming a bunch, but it doesn’t felt like I’ve slept at all when I wake up. Or if I’m not dreaming, I’m staring up at the ceiling for hours because I can’t shut off all those things Gabriel showed me.”  
  
There was a brief silence of contemplation until Cas spoke up again. “That is a problem?”  
  
“Dammit, Cas, yes it’s a problem!” Dean replied irritably. He sighed when Cas tensed momentarily and clenched his hands. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m just really tired and stressed, and I have no idea what to do. We humans need more sleep than you guys—wait, do you guys even sleep? I’ve never seen you close your eyes longer than to blink. And I don’t see you around during the day usually, so I don’t know if you sleep then or whatever.”  
  
The angel smiled quickly, sliding his gaze over to Dean before looking away. “No, we do not sleep. Occasionally we need rest and peace in order to let our grace recover, and even then most of us simply work slower instead of actually going off-duty.” He paused as Dean absorbed the information, and swallowed unnecessarily in order to fill the space. “That is what Gabriel is telling my brethren I am doing, while I am absent from Heaven. Resting.”  
  
Dean snorted. “Yeah, being stuck on Earth with a pain in the ass like me is very restful. You should be feeling like Superangel with how much rest you’ve been getting. How’s that going for you?” He meant it sarcastically, though good-humored, and was surprised when Cas didn’t receive it as such.  
  
Castiel considered the human with serious, contemplative eyes. “I am very peaceful here, thank you.”  
  
He was lost for words. “Ah well…you’re welcome, I guess?” Dean said, stumbling through his words.  
  
“You said there was something I could help you with.” Cas prompted, tilting his head in consideration. “Perhaps I could be of use if you told me what it is.”  
  
Sighing, Dean scratched his cheek, absentmindedly noting he’d have to shave the stubble in the morning. “Well, you know how I said I wasn’t sleeping very well? It’s just…it’s just that it really bothers me that I can’t tell if I’m dreaming or if it’s just a memory.”  
  
Cas swung the chair as he studied the human. “Why is it important to you that you know?”  
  
“Because I don’t know how much I can trust you if I made up half of my memories. For all I know, the only reason I can stand even being in the same state as you is because of some fake memory I invented.”  
  
“So what you are truly concerned with is how to tell a memory apart from a dream you invented?”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean nodded in relief at being understood. “That’s exactly what I want to know.”  
  
Cas sat back in the porch swing and shrugged. “It is simple enough. If I don’t touch you in the dream, it’s a memory. If I touch you, it’s an invention of your imagination.”  
  
Dean raised his eyebrows and shook his head slightly. “That can’t be right. You never touch me in the dreams.”  
  
The angel gave Dean what could only be described as a smirk, and he dropped his chin, smiling into his lap at the abashed look on the hunter’s face. “Apparently everything your sleeping consciousness shows you is true. Congratulations, you are not mistaken in trusting me.”  
  
Dean sputtered for a few moments, unbelieving that so many of those… intimate moments had been real. “Well alright then. Thanks for your help.” He drained his glass of water as fast as he could swallow, suddenly thirsty and dry-mouthed. Contemplatively, he tapped the bottom of the glass against the railing and absentmindedly hummed a couple bars from _Jessie’s Girl._  
  
“Hey Cas? I know I don’t know much about your ‘job’ or anything, but I can totally tell that you were never really supposed to talk to me right?” With Cas’s nod of grave affirmation, Dean barreled on. “So I guess what I’m also asking is, why did you? Like you must have been around tons of humans but never interacted with them. Why did you even talk to me?”  
  
Cas froze up more and more the longer Dean rambled on, feeling acutely uncomfortable where his line of questioning was going. “You’re correct. I was not supposed to make contact with you; I only ever make contact—very briefly at that—with those I will punish. And you want to know why I ever talked to you? That was actually my mistake, that first time. I was late, and you caught me in the midst of an assignment.” He shrugged, letting out a bitter laugh. “After that, I suppose I was being selfish. I was curious to learn about the only two humans who have seen me more than once.”  
  
Dean frowned. “I don’t understand; surely others have met you.”  
  
“Of course _others have_ met me. They just have not met me more than once, unlike you and your brother. For an unapparent reason, I often occur where you are and that has led to multiple encounters. However, I don’t know why it was you and your brother. Perhaps some things simply happen of their own accord, and not because of anything we can define.”  
  
“I’d say there were more than ‘multiple’ encounters, Cas,” Dean snorted. “We were friends, good friends.”  
  
Cas fixed him with a pointed stare for interrupting. “Very well. But yes, that is the explanation for my presence in your life at all.”  
  
“To be fair, that’s not really a good explanation,” Dean huffed and crossed his arms. “I mean, curiosity? You wouldn’t have hung around or even talked to me if you figured us out. Come on, what else is there? Secret plot? Teenage rebellion?”  
  
“I think that is enough question and answer for tonight, Dean,” Cas said abruptly. “You need sleep in order to go to work tomorrow.” He interlaced his fingers again and pointedly turned away to look at the sky.  
  
Dean took that as his cue to go, so he grabbed his glass and stood up and stepped carefully over the splintered wood. “Yeah, okay. G’night.”  
  
He paused by the door frame as Cas spoke up again. “Dean, I am still sorry for putting you in this situation. There is no method with which I could ever recompense you for the time you have lost, but I made an oath to your brother to bring you home and I will uphold it.” His gravelly voice was rougher than usual with sincerity, and Dean wondered if the angel chewed glass or drank copious amounts of whiskey on his free time.

Dean blinked in stunned silence, trying to absorb that rousing speech. He offered Cas a tired, neutral smile. “Don’t worry too much, buddy. Hey, at least you sent me back to when good music still has to be made. I get it experience it all firsthand—Zepp, Sex Pistols, all of it. That’s a pretty damn fine deal. The only downside is that it’s seven years too early for Baby. You had to leave the car behind, didn’t you? Guess I can’t get it all.” He realized he was rambling when he got to the car part, but by then it was too late to stop his brain and rethink. Lapsing into silence again, he flicked his gaze back up to the angel and tried to gauge his reaction.  
Castiel returned the smile hesitantly. “Good things to those who wait, right?”  
  
The other man tapped a finger to his temple and pointed it at Cas. “You got it buddy.” Dean jiggled the door handle and pulled the screen open, squeaking on its hinges.  
  
“And Dean,” Cas paused until Dean looked back at him through the screen door. “I befriended you because I was curious what it was like not to be alone, even just once.” He tried a faint smile. “I got more than I bargained for.”  
  
Dean nodded, though he wasn’t sure Cas could tell in the dark. “And that’s what it’s all about.” He held up his hand, partly in a mirror of his dream and partly in a wave. “Goodnight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from the song 'Munich' by The Fray (which is why I included that snippet of an interview at the beginning). Anyways, thanks for reading, and it would be really be appreciated if you did the whole comment/review thing where you let me know how I'm doing or if I can do anything better! Hope you all have a good week~


	13. Leave a Light On

After Dean returned to his room for the night, Castiel stood in silent meditation as he waited for the sun to rise. As he waited, a few pale streaks of fiery light brightened the sky briefly until disappearing into the horizon. With a deep breath and a sigh, Cas closed his eyes and returned to his prayers, sparing himself from the blinding lights that dotted the sky.

When the sun began to rise, pale pinks and grays washed over the tree tops to shoo away the night. Just as the sunlight hit the eaves of the house awnd began traveling downwards.

Cas opened his eyes to welcome the new day, tilting his head back to let the rays warm his face and lighten his eyes to a brilliant azure.

Between one breath and the next, Cas found himself on a hill overlooking a space resembling the Mongolian Steppes. In the distance there was a trio of brightly-colored kites flying against the cerulean and white sky.

It was here Castiel could find his heaven, in the silence between one thought and the next. His peace was shattered when sterile white walls shots up around him, cutting him off from the serenity of Heaven. The hair on the back of his neck prickled and an icy feeling of dread settled heavily in his chest as he turned to face the intruding force.

“Why hello, Castiel. To what do we owe the pleasure of your brief return to Heaven?”

Castiel froze, debating whether to snap a reply akin to _none of your business_ or fake his obeisance. “Zachariah, it’s…amenable to see you.” He slowly turned to face one of his brothers. “I assume you are pious as always.” Cas wanted to say _sycophantic_ but he refrained—barely.

Zachariah gave him a shark-like smile. “And you are still the dawdler of the garrison, obviously. How is your human pet?” His smile was predatory, practically devouring Castiel’s ambience of unease and anger.

“He is _not_ my pet,” Castiel replied emphatically, knowing it was useless to deny whatever else the other angel had up his sleeve. “And it does not surprise me that you are aware of him. The entire host of Heaven is aware of your proclivity to watching.” It was as near to a lewd entendre Cas would go, but it was deliciously worth it to see Zachariah’s face contort and become a devilish shade of crimson.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to imply, but before you burn any bridges,” the pudgy angel licked his lips, “you should remember that I can assist you in your protection of the human.”

Castiel bit back a sneer. “Why would I ever deign to take your assistance?”

Zachariah was now behind him, pressed obscenely near as he danced two fingers across Cas’ trench-coated back. Leaning in, his heavy breath smothered Castiel’s ear. Cas fought the urge to squirm away and tried to ignore the prickling disgust flooding his vessel’s body. He felt the hotness of Zachariah’s voice against his ear when he spoke again.

Zachariah chuckled darkly. “Because. You know that I know exactly how to play to Raphael’s whims and desires.”

Oh, Castiel understood very clearly what he was heavily implying, and it revolted him. He shoved away from Zachariah, whirling to face him. “Why are you turning our home into a den of iniquity?” he snarled.

“Our home has long been a den of iniquity!” Zachariah countered sharply. “Only you have always been too innocent, too blind, too absent to notice! How dare _you_ consider me impure when you walk among makind, the basest of creation! How dare you think me vile whilst Gabriel fornicates amongst them! How dare you condemn my debauchery when you harbor devotion stronger to one _man_ than to your own duty and kin!”

“Absent. _Absent_.” Castiel shook his head in disbelief. “It is my duty to be absent, you ass. I am _supposed_ to be out on Earth smiting in the name of Heaven!” His lip curled in a furious snarl.

The older angel laughed in his true voice, a harsh and grating sound that set Castiel’s teeth on edge. “Yet where have you been for the past decade? Out searching for that damned human!”

With nowhere else to go, Castiel found himself backed against the wall. “If you must call anyone absent, why not our Father?” Castiel shot back, reaching back to press his palm against the wall.

“How dare you speak ill of Him!” Zachariah hissed, lunging forward to throttle the other angel.

Castiel danced to the side, out of the way. “You are the one who carries out atrocities in His name!”

Zachariah’s face contorted in fury as Castiel pressed on with his accusations.

“You think I have not seen my kin being cast out?” Castiel snarled. “Just this morning, I saw at least a patrol of angels fall!” Now he was the one pushing back, advancing upon the higher-ranking angel in anger. “Did you honestly assume I would not notice the absurd infractions you assign me to? You must be truly stupid to think I would comply.” Castiel stabbed a finger at Zachariah’s chest. “How _dare_ you try to sully my sacred duty by turning me into a shameless killer."

Zachariah’s face filled with a cold, dark fury. “That was your only purpose in your creation. Your responsibility was to punish those Heaven saw fit, and you neglected that duty.” The angel’s voice rose in pitch and volume until it was painful to hear, even for Castiel. “Perhaps our Father foresaw the failure and traitor you would become, and that is why He abandoned us and left you as His final creation.” The stark white walls shook from the thunder in Zachariah’s voice, unable to fully contain the wrath of a seraph. “What do you think, Castiel? Are you the reason God left us?”

“Enough, Zachariah,” Castiel warned. A sick feeling twisted in his gut at this unconsidered possibility. “Don’t accuse me of anything you yourself cannot comprehend.”  
  
Zachariah’s attitude suddenly switched, and he calmed down, giving another belittling smile. “I understand everything perfectly. God saw a chance to jump ship before the shit hit the fan because He had the foresight to see the travesty you would make of His creation.”

“Are you referring to Dean Winchester? Is he part of my travesty of the world? Also your overuse of idiomatic expressions indicates you are trying to show your superior wordliness.” Castiel sensed he struck a nerve and attempted to reign in his pride and smugness at having done so.

A vein bulged in the side of Zachariah’s neck. “You will not be able to hide him any longer,” Zachariah warned darkly. “We are able to track your whereabouts, you are aware. It is that easy for me to find your human dispose of him.” The angel snapped his fingers and leered at Castiel, pushing him closer to the wall again.

Despite being cornered, Cas remained resolute and challenged his eye contact. “How would that work out for you? I can visit thousands and thousands of location and times in the single day it would take you to search a dozen for Dean.” In a moment of physical boldness, Castiel shoved his palms hard against the other angel’s shoulders. “Not to mention the energy it would take. Your biology is not especially built for time travel like mine is.”

While Zachariah glowered at him, practically shaking with rage and flexing his hands, Castiel strode away. Even the sharp sounds of his coat flapping sounded furious as he opened the white doors. “It is quite possibly the only gift of use God gave me,” Castiel called over his shoulder, leaving a seething Zachariah alone in a white room.

………………

Dean woke up and the house was too quiet. Not Cas’ kind of quiet where the angel was awake downstairs and rummaging around, but the quiet of the very early morning where no one else was in the house. From all of Dean’s years, he knew this was the kind of quiet to be wary of. He leapt out of bed, landing silently on the cool wooden floors and grabbed the gun he left on his bedside table. He edged along the wall to the doorway, carefully twisted the knob before opening it. Quickly, he turned around the corner, gun cocked. The former hunter repeated the motions throughout the large farmhouse, checking all the rooms for anything or anyone astray.

Dean peered out the screen door into the warm sunshine. Cas’ trench coat was gone, but the keys were still on their hook and there was no note left anywhere. His breath caught in his throat. “Shit, shit, shit,” he mumbled, desperately pushing his way out the door. His bare feet sank into the sun-warmed grass as he ran out into the open lawn, cupping his hands around his mouth. “ _Cas?_ ” he shouted. “Castiel?” His voice was small and lost in the great expanse of open land, and Dean felt his heart begin to sink sickeningly low in his gut. He shouted several more times, looking in all the directions, even calling the angel’s name into the sky for good measure.

He went inside when his neighbors started yelling out their windows for him to shut up. He sat down heavily at the kitchen table, wooden chair creaking loudly at the force. What else was he to do? There was no one here he could call to ask if they’d seen Cas. None of his acquaintances in town even knew Cas. Dean didn’t know if there were any particular places in town that the angel would go, and he felt guilty for actively ignoring the angel’s whereabouts the past week.

Unless, of course, Cas wasn’t anywhere near this time zone. Maybe he went somewhere of his free will, or maybe the angels Gabriel was warning them about had taken him. Dean didn’t want to even remotely consider that possibility.

Cas wouldn’t have left on his own without telling Dean, would he? He said he was here to protect Dean, so why would he leave him here alone to be hunted down?  
Dean rubbed his hands through his hair, dropping his head to the table and took quick shallow breaths. His chest felt as if a werewolf were sitting on it and his head felt too light and dizzy. What was it Sam called these? Oh yeah, panic attack. Screw panic attacks.

He pushed back from the table suddenly, knocking over his chair, and yanked open the cupboards to fumble around for a glass. With his head spinning, his motor skills weren’t all that great. Meaning about three broken glasses in, Dean gave up and shoved his mouth under the faucet, gulping down mouthfuls of water. He splashed his face with the cool water after and braced himself on the edge of the sink, trying to concentrate on getting his breathing to slow.

“Damn it, Dean,” he growled. “Pull it together.” He took a deep breath and dried his face with the bottom of his shirt. He grabbed a pen and paper before sitting back down to make a list of people who could’ve taken Cas.

> McAlister & Co.  
>  Gabriel???  
>  Other angel dudes  
>  Castiel  
> 

Well that was a good start. _Great going, Dean._ He sat there for another ten minutes, scratching his head and uncrossing and re-crossing names. Another hour passed, then another three, where he had no new ideas despite pacing furiously around the edge of the property. The neighbors probably thought some insane man had moved in next to them, and now they were looking for a new house in a whole other state.

He was rummaging around his room, looking around for the few books on the supernatural he’d collected so far. The sun was well on its way to setting, and the light filling the house was a blinding orange. Dean had his head so far in the closet he thought he’d never find his way out when he heard the screen door swing shut with a clatter.

He pulled his head out so fast he smacked it on the shelf. “Cas?” Dean was already out his bedroom door and practically falling down the stairs. He didn’t even notice that his gun wasn’t even drawn, or that it was still in his room. “Cas? Tell me it’s you, buddy.” He slammed to a halt right in front of the kitchen, suddenly confronted with the wave of anger he felt at seeing Cas perfectly fine. Sure, the angel was kneeling on the floor and sweeping up the broken glass into his palm, but the bastard was alright. There was a little relief mixed in, but most of what Dean felt was extreme pissed-offness and being a total idiot for freaking out.

Dean was dumbfounded. “Are you _fucking_ kidding me?” Probably not the best way to start off, but oh well. “Where the hell were you all day?”

Cas looked up, tilting his head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean _where. the. hell. were. you. ___” Dean clenched his hands by his sides to keep from punching the angel square in the mouth.

Castiel stood up and brushed the glass from his hands into the trash. “I was in Heaven, having words with one of my superiors.” He paused for a moment of consideration, taking in Dean’s expression of angry relief. “Are you angry?”

“No fucking shit,” Dean scoffed, shaking his hand at the angel. “I could—why, I could shoot you right now! Where the hell were you all day? I was worried about you, man. I thought some of those angel dicks had grabbed you and flown off! And you’re telling me that you were gone of your own will? Without leaving a _note ___? You could’ve been dead lying in a ditch somewhere, and I wouldn’t have known anything! What’s up with that, huh?” he demanded, shoving the over-tipped chairs into the table.

Cas frowned. “I didn’t realize my absence would concern you, seeing as you did not pay attention to my coming or going the past week.” He paced around the kitchen trying to hide his nervousness at Dean’s odd reaction. He straightened up as he went, closing cupboard doors and sweeping up the remains of what food and ceramic plates they had. “I apologize,” he said finally, to break the silence.

Dean had to take a hard swallow at Cas’ _fucking blue eyes ___looking up at him through his lashes. “Goddamnit, it’s like you want me to forgive you.”

“That is the purpose of an apology, Dean. And don’t blaspheme.”

Dean had to take a deep breath to quell whatever the hell he was feeling. “Look, I’m just a teensy, weensy, little bit upset,” he held up his pinched fingers to show just how little, “because you left without telling me where you were going or when you’d be back. I didn’t know if you’d gotten angel-napped or whatever. I just…I didn’t know if you were okay.”

A small frown creased Cas’ forehead. “I’m also sorry about being absent the entire day. My intention was to return shortly after I left in the morning. As you can see,” he spread his arms to indicate the sunset, “my flight ended up a little delayed.”

Now that he was calmer, Dean was able to talk without raising his voice. “It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m not hurt, you’re fine, you’re back in one piece, we’re not going to die today.” He sank into a chair, shoving the one opposite out for Cas to sit in. He was just starting to feel the effects of a bad night’s sleep and stressing out all day long. He waited for Cas to slide into the chair. “We need to have an agreement,” he said quietly.

Cas turned his palms up on the table, remembering some vague tips a behavioral psychologist had given him before being sent to the Jurassic Period for malpractice. Supposedly this position inspired trust and openness. “What sort of agreement?”

“Y’know, ground rules. Like you tell me when you’re going off somewhere, like on an assignment or whatever you call them. Or, _or ___you get to go grocery shopping, or make breakfast every Tuesday, or you can mow the fucking yard or something.” By then Dean was just rambling on and trying not to sound so sappy and ridiculously worried. _Seriously? You want to divvy up chores? You’ve got to be kidding me. ___

Hm. Cas should have been more lenient to that psychologist. Dean’s attitude had softened quickly and his posture became less defensive. “That is an agreeable arrangement. For the sake of prudence, I should inform you that I will be leaving frequently and without warning. When I was talking to my superior, he threatened to track my location to find you.” He looked away, unwilling to witness Dean’s undoubted explosion of anger at Castiel.

To his surprise, Dean remained quiet. Cas found a spot on the bannister behind Dean’s shoulder to stare at. “I know it will leave you more vulnerable without me here constantly, but I’m hoping it will throw them off your track the more places I visit. They can’t check them all.”

Dean frowned, now able to think clearly again. “But won’t they see the pattern? You’ll be coming back to the same place over and over.”

This managed to give Castiel a pause, and he didn’t like any of the solutions presented to him. “I can always commute here from wherever my assignments take me, but there is no telling how far away I will be from Nevada. I’d have to wait until I move closer to a more feasible travel distance.” He gave up on trying to look open and trustworthy, figuring he’d made his point, and clasped his hands. “Or, I can visit every few years. Say, a decade at least.” He watched Dean’s reaction carefully, feeling the worry return again.

Trying to remain calm, Dean made himself count to ten before responding. “I am not,” he took a deep breath, “waiting here for years on end like a damn Elizabeth Swan for you to come back every ten years! Hell, you left me here to make my own way for almost a year! I drove myself crazy trying to watch my back and having no familiar face to lean on!” He tipped his chair back, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. “End of discussion, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t understand that reference,” Cas began, “but you misunderstand me. It would be my time we’d be spending apart. Time passes differently for me than it does for you; it would be rather difficult and time-consuming to explain how it works, but I can attempt it if you want…”

Dean shook his head and waved for him to go on. “No don’t worry about it. Timey-wimey stuff, right?”

Cas quirked an eyebrow, but didn’t ask about the reference. “I would spend a few years off with my assignments and I’ll return here infrequently enough not to arouse suspicion. What would be a few hours, days, a week at most for you would be years for me.”

“Seriously?” Dean gaped in disbelief, reverting to his nervous tic of running his hands through his hair. “It’s that different for you?”

The angel shrugged. “We first properly met in 2011, correct? It has been three years you’ve known me, and I’ve known you for at least a hundred.” He propped his chin up on top of his hands and waited for Dean’s stunned silence to end.

“Wow, you’re really not shitting me are you?”

“No, why would I? But those are the options now that we know that they are looking for you. I can try a combination of the two, but you should be aware there will be days when I am not here. However, I will abide by your request, and I will leave you a note every time before I leave. I’ll also try to estimate when I return home, so you won’t have to wait for me.” Cas looked at Dean anxiously, praying that his terms were amenable and he wouldn’t start on another rant.

There was a short pause as Dean processed everything, and he cracked a smile. “I’ll leave a light on for you anyway.” They both stared at each other for several long moments, losing track long after it was supposed to be uncomfortable.

Dean broke the eye contact first and coughed into his shoulder to calm the flush threatening his face. When he regained his sense of composure, he found Cas still cooly watching him, though not without a trace of amusement. He avoided whatever that made him feel and tried to ease the tension with humor. “I’d shake on it, but you know. Since you’re being incredibly supportive with all this bullshit, I guess I’ll hold up my end and bring in the money and food. While we’re apologizing, I’d just like to say I’m sorry too, for being such a jerk and not trusting you and kicking you out of the house and all that. Also for yelling at you just now. And if you’re willing to accept my ‘sorry,’ would you consider moving into the house?” He laughed hesitantly, suddenly realizing how friggin’ cheesy he was sounding. “There’s another bedroom here on the first floor.”

Cas started to protest and assure Dean he was comfortable where he was now, but Dean held up a hand to shush him. “I’m serious. I know you don’t sleep, but it sure beats staying outside all night and day where it’s a hellish heat or a killer frost. So far you’ve done nothing but show me that I can trust you, and I do. So please just give up arguing and stay. Please.”

Cas chewed the inside of his cheek, hesitant on agreeing. What if Dean stopped trusting him in the future? What would be the point of going further only to be turned back down the road? Against his better judgment, he spoke without thinking. “Alright.”

……………

All was well and quiet that night. Dean was finally getting a good night’s rest, though he refused to admit it was because he cleared his conscience of the angel. Meanwhile, Cas was sitting in his new room and reading some books he’d found.

A loud, insistent thumping broke the serenity of the darkened house, sending the occupants into a state of hyper-aware alarm.

In one practiced, fluid motion, Dean flung off the bedcovers and had his hand on the gun before the second bang on the door had stopped echoing. He was flying down the stairs as quietly as he could, meeting Cas in the entryway. He held his finger up to shush the query he knew Cas was about to make.

Dean slid quietly over to the door, pushing aside the curtain with the muzzle of the gun. As soon as he got a clear look, he flicked the lock and yanked the door open hard enough to bounce it against the wall behind it. “Gabriel.” Goddamnit.

Castiel gave Dean a look that practically shouted the angel knew what blasphemy he’d just committed again.

“Could you have the fucking mid-20th century decency to call before crashing our place at the ass crack of dawn?” Dean demanded, glaring daggers at the archangel, though he lowered the gun.

“Nope,” Gabriel said cheerfully, and strode into the place without even being invited. “Nice guns by the way.” He tapped a finger on Dean’s bare chest and arms, looking around the house with a small smirk . “I do mean of both the literal and muscle kind.” He winked.

Dean reverted to his pissed-off, 3 am face and tried to inconspicuously cover himself. What was he supposed to do when there was an ungodly racket in the middle of the night? Wear more than boxers to sleep in case he had to save the world at 3 am?”

While Dean tried to disguise his modesty, Cas made it a point to cut to the chase. “What are you doing here, Gabriel?”

The archangel was busy snapping a comfy chair into existence, which he pulled into the kitchen. He sat back in the armchair and propped his feet up on the table. “You know why.” He fixed Castiel with a pointed stare. “I hear you graced our home with your presence earlier. In fact, it’s all I’ve been hearing of since Zachariah went and tattled to Raphael.”

Cas and Gabriel were having some kind of staring contest after that, and Dean didn’t really want to intervene—except in the name of food. He shoved Gabriel’s feet off the table. “Hey watch it. We eat there.”

Gabriel flicked his gaze back to the human. “I’ve just informed your little roommate here how _incredibly displeased ___I am that he left here without my permission. So now really isn’t the best time to order me around.” However, he let his feet stay firmly on the floor.

“Forgive me for wanting to see my home for the first and last time in who knows how long.” Castiel’s voice was edged with sarcasm, and he frowned down at Gabriel from where he was standing. “What would you have me do next time? Send a message your way and wait for the time it will take you to get here and take care of Dean? Even you cannot push your limits with time travel. As I told Zachariah, your biology is not made like mine.”

“Not made like yours,” Gabriel finished in tandem, waving his hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I get that you don’t want to wait for the babysitter, but a head-up would be great. Why you gotta compare me to Zachariah, the jackass clown? He doesn’t have all o’ _this ___.” He ran his hands over his body, making suggestive movements.

Castiel grimaced, and Dean couldn’t help but feel sorry for the guy. For Cas, seeing Gabriel act like this would probably be like watching Sam dirty dance from Dean’s perspective.

“Is that all?” Castiel shifted uncomfortably, hoping Gabriel would not stay longer. The longer the archangel hung around, the higher the chances were of him saying something particularly embarrassing. Lord forbid, something embarrassing about Castiel.

Gabriel rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Yup! Maybe some more in the morning; I’ll make it up as I go tonight. So, whose room am I staying in?”

“Not here.”

“With Cas.”

The human and the angel both looked at each other when they hurriedly replied at the same time.

Castiel could only watch helplessly as his brother practically did a strip dance down the hall to Cas' room, pulling off various items of clothing as he went.

“If I’m going to get some shut-eye,” Gabriel called, “I need to sleep like Dean does. Well, almost like Dean! The underwear has to go too!” Thankfully he’d reached the door by then and went inside, and the other two men were spared from the sight of holy ass cheeks.

Dean sucked in a breath and patted Cas’ back. “Boy, that was a close one for me. Good luck with him.” As he passed by the angel on his way up the stairs, he leaned in to stage whisper. “I’ll get you some clean sheets tomorrow—or whenever he leaves. In the meantime, you may want to call up another couch of your own.” He clomped up the stairs, chuckling softly to himself.

“I can assure you, he will be leaving tomorrow.” At least, that’s what Castile deeply hoped. Dean went back to bed, leaving Cas with a face full of despair at the prospect of having an extended familial sleepover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for timely updates! Hope you all enjoyed this chapter as much as I did writing it. (: Please leave a comment on how I'm doing? Have a good rest of your month!


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